The River Below

The early morning
atmosphere is clear
and cold, reflecting a
season loath to depart,
snow still thickly
muffling the frozen
earth below. Yet
listen and look;
tiny redpolls flit
in backyard trees
their spring song
bravely trilling the air.
Look up, into
the pacific blue
of the heavens
and there, creasing
the sky is a
lone goose,
plaintively calling
to its absent cohorts
already settled
upon the thawed,
wide river below.