FORTY DAYS

Photo by S. Auberle

FORTY DAYS TILL SPRING

Foxes are pairing up now;

coyotes singing their love songs;

birds in dull winter coats

dreaming, perhaps, of nuptial plumage.

Peaks and valleys of frost

line the windows this morning.

Outside gems sparkle

in the tiny snow tracks

of a mouse scurrying to shelter.

The sky is that diamond blue,

light cascading down

the tapestry of branches

black and bare for now,

green only a memory

except in wind-twisted cedars

and the winter palace

of bay ice—marble floored

in pale jade and sapphire,

but seeds are stirring now

awakening beneath the earth

their verdant fire rising

slowly, ever so slowly

in the lingering light

of these forty days till Spring.

an old poem, published in a slightly different form in "The Clearing Speaks"