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