Off Cartwright Road
March, 1953
Through the early spring forest, a breeze wanders north.
On swaying branches, icebeads click and flash.
Holly, oak, and maple sigh long and low,
Stretch their boughs, and feel new life.
Morning sun begins to illuminate frozen shadows,
creating tiny droplets to join the soft music
of snowmelt beneath receding deep drifts.
Its welcome warmth awakens sleepy pink crocus;
inspires joy in white birch and bright forsythia;
embraces exquisite dogwood.
All living things anticipate the new season of flourishing.
On swaying branches, icebeads click and flash.
Holly, oak, and maple sigh long and low,
Stretch their boughs, and feel new life.
Morning sun begins to illuminate frozen shadows,
creating tiny droplets to join the soft music
of snowmelt beneath receding deep drifts.
Its welcome warmth awakens sleepy pink crocus;
inspires joy in white birch and bright forsythia;
embraces exquisite dogwood.
All living things anticipate the new season of flourishing.
Will Walsh