On this day of balance between winter and summer, I share this small poem about the just-on-cusp-of-changing prevernal world.
Prevernal
The dogs stop. The deer
over the loop of the field
pause. The highway rising west
clears. I wait. Let my breath make itself
visible. Count the turkeys frozen
against the cedars or mid-field
between woods and prairie.
The wheel of the season waits too,
then rolls toward its next click.
Time to go closer to what’s ready to bud out,
just last week milk deep in snow.
When the world resumes in birds
and greening trail, all crosses over.
Meets or doesn’t meet at the other side
where dreams stand on all four new legs,
then jolt into steps without considering
the weight of landing.
Lovely.