Change Welcomed

Last Ski in the Woods

Likely the last ski of the winter

Took me through cedar groves

And stands of hemlock, birch, maple.

The warm March sun

Casting shadows

Turning straight tree trunks

Into curves and arcs

On the undulating snow drifts

                                                    

I stopped to take it all in

When tiny chirps and the

Whirrrr of wings past my ears

Made me dig deep into my pocket

For a handful of sunflower seeds.

Holding my well trained palm flat

The tiny bold birds

Impossibly light, lit on my hand

And one by one

Carefully selected the seed of their choice.

Further on, tracks of porcupine

Like tire tracks

And bounding squirrels,

Whitetail deer and cottontail rabbits.

Weasel tracks circumnavigated

A puffy pile of brown feathers…

A forest murder mystery

That kept us occupied

Deciphering the clues

Spring Song

The soft grey catkins bursting

From the aspen branches

At the end of the road

Don’t lie.

Spring is coming.

The birds know it.

Crows, chickadees, blue jays

Have changed their songs

More varied, complex.

Spring means only one thing.

Sitting on the dock, reading

In the March warm sun

I look out over the

Frozen lake waiting

For the first migrant birds

To spring into sight

Soon the geese will be

Staking out their nesting sites

Sitting on the still frozen ice

Patiently knowing that

Spring is near.

We sit by a fire fed by the

Rotted boards of an old

Dock in need of renewal

And repair once

Spring is here.

I walk carefully over the ice to

View the progress and

Suddenly find myself

Right thigh deep in cold water

Surprisingly not painful.

I pull myself out and

Take off my wet jeans and

Socks in front of the fire

Covering myself in my

Blanket I laugh.

Spring is here!