It’s lacking in subtly…
The ground bares it’s dark grin from under the trees.
Opens it’s mouth to show the slow decaying of the snow.
Fields patchy with pearly white, speckles of winter, fir needles, dust, fallen branches. Pretending to be open and honest, but hiding ground h ardened with ice, rocks unmovable, abandon the rake for today. Foolish gardener, dragging out tools, gloves, and hope. A long winters rest soon to be broken, but today, no fingers in the dirt.
Sun warms the skin, breeze cools it down, walk it off.
Forecast that varies from day to day, inaccurate by so many degrees no one pays attention to it anymore. Winter jacket, scarf, gloves one day, change to t-shirt, tank tops, shorts the next.
Bare winter white legs, not yours, glowing like florescent worms, blinding eyes, sunglasses needed, and not just for the sun. Can’t see where you are walking, don’t fall off of the road.
Dogs frolic at gates, when only last week they chased snow from the blower. Watch where you walk, roadside messes, no one picks up after them. Stinking treasures long hidden under melting snow.
Birds fly, worms in mouth, stark branches easy to perch on.
Stock up, there’s a sale on twigs, and there are nests to be built.
Pairing off, deciding who’s to stay home with the chicks, and who will go out and work.
Trees feel a stirring deep in their roots, sap warms and migrates. Buds swell with the increased light.
Snow still hides new shoots of grass, ice coats shaded ditches while water melts, and runs in full sun.
Black bird clinging to bull rush sings such a haunting melody you cannot help but stop and listen, twined among the heart, tugging so softly it’s ages before you realize it’s stopped. Play that again you ask, and he does, it’s as beautiful as you remembered, he does well at Natures version of the dating game.
Floating whispers of fuzz from deconstructed cat tails line a nest, pulled by a bird so small it hardly shows up. Massive in attention to detail, only the softest parts for it’s new nursery.
Sheep watch from across the field, the ram at full attention, it’s his flock, and you are the interloper. Go away, nothing to see here he tells you, unfriendly woolly creature not at all like Mary’s little lamb.
Cows, milk chocolate, and dark brown, stare out of the door of the red barn, languidly chewing cud. The smell of manure fresh on the air, pungent is too soft a description for it’s strength after a long winter inside.
No muskrat available to come for tea in the stream today. Woodpecker drills new holes in the poplars that hang out by the stream. Pussy willows soft grey cushions, just out of reach of finger tips, icy slopes make wet feet less appealing.
Horses stand, three down, fourth up, no tipping over here, sleepy, ignoring your sweet nothings, no food in your hand, go home.
The long stretch of road that leads to home, fields of farm animals on one side, golden grain to be grown on the other. Chicken barns reflect the light from the mountains, eagles watching for clean out days from the park nearby.
Walk the last few blocks slowly, make them last as long as possible… acknowledge the sun, smell the scent of spring, feel a deep stirring in the soul.
It’s spring, and it’s calling to you.