Reluctant Spring

April 22 2011

Ice persists in the narrows.

A perilous walk, crossing

in this on-and-off spring.

Although two fat imperious geese

are squatting, warily watching,

early arrivals

when there’s little to eat.

A strip of open water,

where the frozen surface

has released its grip on the shore.

A glistening edge

of blue translucent ice,

receding imperceptibly.

Until one bright warm morning

it will all be gone,

leaving cold black water

lapping at rocks.

The dog wades in

transfixed by sticks of wood,

water-logged, slick with rot

sunk in the silty bottom.

And suddenly finds herself swimming

oblivious to freezing cold.

As if the long dry winter

had never occurred,

she takes as given

the change of season,

utterly unperturbed.

And then shakes herself briskly

in a spray of tiny drops,

goes charging off

to her next great adventure.

But I keep thinking of the geese.

I presume a goose and a gander,

whom I’ve been told

mate for life.

Irritably honking

at the dog’s approach,

awkwardly hopping

into laboured flight,

enduring the hunger and cold.

I idly watch them,

sitting impassive, or calmly paddling

looking blankly

at the snowbound shore.

Whose early arrival

will go unrewarded,

this squabbling couple

alone, so far.

Then I shiver slightly,

tugging the zipper

tight to my neck.

In this endless spring

when winter won’t retreat

and summer seems impossible.

But the dog, as usual, couldn’t care less.

She is thrilled with life,

intense, ballistic

bouncing with delight.

At the intoxicating scent

of freshly thawed soil.

At the ice letting go.

At the tepid sun.

Because it’s always dog heaven

no matter what.