Another March

March 12 2012

Winter is letting go,

a presumptuous spring, impatient.

Old snow

excavated layer by layer,

giving up

its treasure.

Chilly rain is soaking in,

a heavy slog

through cold porridge.

The palette of early spring

is damp green

dirty white.

A dishwater sky

low enough to touch,

as mist thickens to fog

softening up

earth’s rough edges.

The air is heavy, at rest

and silence deep,

except for the muffled drip

of sodden trees.

The world feels changeless, primeval.

Only the light shifts

receding into night,

closing in

claustrophobic.

But tomorrow will be warm and bright.

When winter’s grip

will have slipped

past the point of no return.

Or is this the false promise

of another March?

Toying with us,

like a cat

its warm-blooded prey;

small furry creatures

so sure they were safe

into spring.