Only a memory of summer remains.
Only an open window tells of fair weather.
(a gamble, after all, that winter’s hope in solitude
Gods of summer sit in state,
Slow to soothe…
How the tissue flutter
How the red intrudes upon a frozen eye…
Only a leaf- dead birch as reminder
Stark against the new, blue sky.
Presently...a busy air,
so faint one must force an ear…
skinny legs skittering foliage alive
for the first time...
the very first time.
Suddenly...the noise of spring!
What thinks a toad of all this...
Does a robin thrill in breast
with a flourish?
Or...is a fear alive out there
that in one second’s hesitation...
Is this the noise of spring?