4.6.16 That which was Spring

That which was Spring is again Winter.

The green grasses press up beneath the snows

the Robins go round finding bare grasses where the sun has warmed the earth and the worms are plentiful.

Down by the farmer's fields, the Plover couples race across the white landscape, trying their best to fend off all comers, and stay on schedule for their nesting, and their young.

But the coyotes simply continue onward, loping across the fields in the moonlight, going about getting their meals, with small furred ones growing in their beautiful bellies already.

The sleeping Bear remain somnolent, while their cubs roll and play and nurse and sleep, nestled in the deep warm fur of the mother.

And overhead each day, the Eagles and the Broadwing Hawks and the Redtails have stopped their keening. Because already they all have tumbled fast downward through the skies together, to mate. Already there are eggs gestating and the males are cognizant of their role and their protectiveness and the building of the nests.

And still, beneath the frozen ponds and the shores of the Connecticut, the snakes and the turtles and toads lie, asleep. Nestled each in their places of winter's rest, awaiting the call of true Spring.