Waiting for Winter to End

 

 

 

Waiting for Winter to End

 

Outside to the east,

my garden slumbers

under a mat of leaves,

still slick with the last

ice crystals of winter.

 

Not one crocus

pushes purple fingers

through a sleeve of snow,

to fling out its fist

full of robin song.

Not one.

 

And no hardy squill

splits the worn brown skin

of an old oak leaf,

to trumpet its fresh blues.

 

Inside to the west,

the sun coaxes ladybugs

out of the crevices,

away from their sleep.

 

I listen to them dancing

tap-tap-tapping

between the window panes.

 

I watch them whirling,

kicking up their heels,

clicking their red wings.

 

They are keeping time

as Spring hums her own

intoxicating tune;

this throb so ancient,

nothing can resist.

 

Words and photo are copyright ©Carol Steel.