Spring Tidings

The sandhill cranes insist

noisily that I come out

to gape at their typical touristy

ways, a squawking commentary

like rowdy spring-break teens

hailing the ancient trees and this

lovely lake.  These crocuses

and the green shoots of daffodils

are too small for their high-flying eyes.

I could be mistaken. They vee

north where surely spring is still

too fragile to feed them, but

I’m frozen by this overstayer

winter so what do I know?

Like clockwork the buffleheads

arrive by their precise

reckoning.  My yearly delights

follow a calendar far more

exact than this Gregorian compromise

that rules my days.  Black and white

divers tease the water into rippling

sensuous shudders as they go under,

hundreds of them, a quick wiggle

to disappear into her mysteries.

She’ll be accepting snowfall

later today, to complicate this dance.

Such a trial for this hostess, plunging

temperatures forcing a cold

shoulder to guests only here

to kiss and make up

before the long trip,

boreal breeding grounds beckoning.

They won’t miss that flight,

their boarding passes etched

into their cells, and so I count

the thirty days slow and sweet

standing before this cold window

an essential piece of the living world

they enchant.

Inspired by Reckoning, Enchant, Trial and Fragile.


Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

4 thoughts on “Spring Tidings”

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