Impressionable Rites

Nothing particularly exciting
but definitely it is enticing
to enter a winter-weary wood
where snow and ice are steadily
disintegrating into slush and muck,
just for the pleasure of witnessing
that inexorable, seasonal change.

In those hidden valleys where
spring sun does not penetrate
the pace is slow, the snow piled high
the frozen trails of icy rot challenging
to the venturing foot. It is the changed
sounds of returned bird life; goldfinches
slipping through bare branches
trilling, that so transfixes us.

The sight of green, luminescent
fungi climbing the bark of a tree,
the newly-released ferns, brightly vibrant
the soft plush green of mosses, wild
strawberry plants and grasses alive
in the dark, wet soil of early spring.

The hoarse chorus of crows
racketing above, the tapping of
woodpeckers - all - the Pileated giant,
the Hairy and the Downy, industriously
oblivious, intent on their harvest.
Their red caps, from size to size,
fiercely drumming tree bark.

Spring's choreographed awakening
includes the streams of madly rushing
water, clattering and sparkling over the
aggregation of winter-felled limbs,
swelled by the melting snowpack.

And the delicate ballet of the
Mourning Cloaks, those dainty
winged wonders, swirling and twirling
on the slightest of breezes, invested
in their seasonal mating dance.