Opus

I watched the sun introduce this day of spring The way a violin might introduce The opening movement of a concerto – It rose slowly, softly, And kept rising until it was fully present. Melting icicles, clinging tenaciously To budding pine boughs, Sent drops of liquid crystal That fell like notes form a harp Into the pond below. Tiny waves rippled over the keyboard surface Of the orchestral pool. A spring breeze blew like a flute Through the leafy limbs Of surrounding trees. The tympanic knocking of their branches Kept time for all to hear. From farther down the bank Came the territorial trumpeting of a swan, And overhead were the horn honks Of returning geese. The lonely cries of a mourning dove Floated through the air Like the haunting notes of an oboe. Then, each in their turn, Began the robin, cardinal and chickadee Singing in their woodland choir To an innate heavenly score. Throughout the morning This symphony of spring Continued to play With myself as the audience, And God the conductor.