First evening wine in the fading light of a long lost spring
All creatures great and small, alive, in tune, rejoicing,
As only they can.
Deer noses pressed to the earth, tongues snatching the green desserts,
The cold bread lines of winter a distant memory…,
Squirrels searching for their Ice Age acorn, jubilant in its reward.
Even the chickadee has a different tone,
Shedding the scarf of winter survival to a bobbing bonnet of spring.
And me, pen and wine in hand, savoring the smells of dirt,
The chorus of distant geese,
Catching the last glimpse of sunlit treetops
Almost fall like in their hues of fading gold…and coming GREEN.