Springing Green

 

Springing Green

 

Sap is rising:

Cut me and I’ll bleed green.

From the short sharp movements

Of winter’s economy, I move

Into languor and the lazier

Dance of spring.

Slow swaying hips

And wide striding legs,

I eat up the miles

Feet skimming the ground

Head in the clouds

(such as they are today)

And my eyes on the rising tide

Of butterflies and bumblebees

That have emerged from slumber

To mate, to forage and to live anew.

Cut me, and I’ll surely bleed green today.

A Slow Spring

A Slow Spring

 

A slow spring:

Coiled and ready

Pressed down hard

Contained and compact

Energy building like a storm

Tingling with life.

A slow spring:

Buds swelling and greening

Twigs quivering with anticipation

And the quickening feet of sparrows

Making them bend and shake;

Soft breezes, not harsh gales.

A slow spring

Fields still bare, brown

Mud becoming fertile chocolate

Laid in stripes across land

Seeded and prepared

And poised to explode.

A slow spring:

Bird song rising to crescendo

Drowning the rush of melt-water

And the creak of old trees

Shaking with surging sap and age

A slow spring:

Rushing rampant

Wanton in warmth

Catching up lost time

Hurtling recklessly forward

Into a swift, welcome summer.