I’ve got that crawling feeling,
that under-the-skin sensation
that usually portends a change
with all the accuracy
of an ill wind.
It is the Day of the Spiderlings
and the sky is a latticework
of shimmering lifelines.
Silk sails taking
the little arachnids off
to find their fate.
I too,
feel the first stirrings
of a season of wanderlust.
Given that the first green shoots
are poking from freshly thawed soil
and Winter has relinquished
her firm, icy grip.
It is time to move about,
to take stock,
see what new work lies ahead
and where the fates may take us.
That old wheel turns
and even the time grows old.
Spring’s birth of a new world
restores flowers to the senses,
hope to the dead, grey fields
and joy
to an abandoned heart.
Weary men,
step from their thresholds
and stretch their arms
and test their bones,
as if seeing if they might bear
another season.
The sky,
lit with a brilliant promise,
shows signs of returned birds
and high, wisps of cloud.
In the daylight,
if you look just right,
you will see the shimmering threads
that carry young spiderlings
off on the breeze
to meet their fate.
Their lines,
thin as though to be invisible,
but strong enough to bear life.
Strong enough for hope.
HG – 2017
