The Language of Spring
Grumpy winter wavers on the cusp of leaving.
Rain washes lingering snow and ice,
releasing the gardens to light and air
hyacinth, tulip and daffodil bulbs
thrust through sodden black earth.
Songbirds burst the air with trills and whorls
waking us to newly bright mornings.
Street hockey nets suddenly disappear;
skipping ropes as suddenly appear.
The bright sounds of children at play
released from winter's snowsuits.
Last summer's chipmunk back at last
searching those same offerings, freed from
hibernating comfort. Tiny red squirrels
sit unscoldingly on tree branches
as we scatter peanuts, wait 'till they
skitter down, turning them in clever hands.
First flush of life on the Corkscrew Hazel.
Fat fuzzy promise of the Saucer Magnolia.
Off with the rose cones. Bushes released from the
cold, dark purgatory of protection thorn
a gash on my eager hands.
c. 2009 Rita Rosenfeld
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