Searching for Spring
Leaving the house to go for a walk
in search of signs of Spring
the omens are not altogether favourable.
Dark clouds have been brewing all day,
the river acts as a funnel for the sharp wind,
aiming it directly at the garden
and pushing tree branches eastwards.
Stepping down the bank from the garden
I can see the river shivering in its bed,
mirroring the slate-grey cloud.
Reflections of thin, leafless trees
fracture the flow.
But new life is all around,
lambs are bleating in the fields,
on the look-out for a free helping
from another lamb's mother;
the grass still growing sparse.
There is need for farmers to augment the feed
now that the ewes are grazing for two
and three at at a time.
At this time of year daffodils grow everywhere;
we are close to the Welsh border here
and the Welsh have a great fondness for them.
It won't be long now before the trumpets open
and blast their bright yellow song
from every verge, lane, hedgerow and roadside.
There are so many thousands of them everywhere
that eventually they will become an unsightly,
aggressive, intrusive spectacle;
I will wish them gone, dead,
and their rotting leaves out of sight before long,
but for now I can't wait for their bright lanterns
to lighten the dark days.
Another welcome sign are the golden leaves
of the weeping willow which has its feet
permanently washed by the flow of the river.
Red and golden dogwoods grow on the bank.
Soon the leaves on willow and shrubs
will turn green, providing shade for trout
and a family of otters who play here
very early in the morning.
Friko
Posted as prose over on her site Friko's World
Line Breaks by Glenn Buttkus
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