.
The days that say,
“Don’t let me go.”
Spring comes
and around here we wait
for the snow and ice
to fade
and reveal last year’s decay.
.
Longing for life to return,
birds first,
then animals coming down
from the high country.
Hush,
the morning quiet
and the valley
flush with new growth.
.
The streams move.
Slowly thawing rivers run,
as our world awakes.
Watching the trees bud out,
soon the leaves
will soak the sun,
reverently.
.
Heavy morning mists
hang in the valley.
Mountain call,
and rain fall
from the night before.
.
Sun filters in
and I hear a late raven call.
Falcon takes wing,
as something small
moves in the deadfall.
.
Morning comes,
like spring does,
inevitably,
so there’s no concern for time;
only days
that say,
“Don’t let me go.”
.
.
HG – 2021
