Translucent fresh green fir branches

In morning angled sunlight.

Winter’s leftovers scattered in

Shaded patches of snow.

Flatten forest litter, autumn’s evidence blended with

The woodland floor, the stage is set for the next act.

Fresh green pachysandra shows first through the

Dried leaves, a promise of the greening to come.

The cool breeze stops for a second and my body is instantly

Warmed by the sun, from the inside out.

The Dark trunks and branches now etched across the sky

Will soon be hidden by a torrent of green to remain

Hidden away until autumn revels the bones.

The roar of the falls is back,

The encasement of ice has melted and the

Water and sound flow freely once more.

Open spring evening windows let in the

Voice of falls and peepers, owls and fox.

It is the sound track of the season of birth and growth, begun in

Earnest almost as if it knows of its time is limited in the cycle of seasons.

A short time of fevered growth, life shared and reproduced.

A lifetime in a season, until the year’s circle revolves and

The long time of quiet, white, rest

Returns again.

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