Split Rock Lighthouse
Here in the North Country, April snowstorm after snowstorm had us doubting whether spring would be coming this year after all. But predictions of 60- and 70-degree days have us happy and hopeful at last.
From my writing desk I look over snow-free yards of grass yearning to turn green. I watch birds moving between feeders and the snow-free earth and the branches of still-bare trees.
Between snowstorms, I have walked along the edges of a few of the nearer ponds and heard the songs of redwing blackbirds… the surest sign of all to me that spring must truly be near.
We live indoors and act in so many ways as if we have conquered nature, but in the end, we are merely creatures of nature ourselves. At least that is what we are meant to be.
I continue a routine of writing in the morning before heading to work… newer poems as well as older ones that need a bit of dust shaken off of them. The small notebook of ”finished” drafts continues to grow. Soon it will be time to do something with them.
This poem is a new one.