Snow pulls your cedar fence apart, pushes it slant.
Crossbars slump into symbols for “less than.”
Winter loosens its hold, sinks into flood, rushes
the downward slope to the river.
A red ribbon rides the melt, dangles on the lip
of the storm drain, bright floss tangled in a gritty grill.
You wait weeks for the slow dissolve of winter,
to discover your yard, wounded.
Then, one morning, above the crocus
and compost, this burst of russet
on a damp grey limb.
A robin sings.
Carol Steel is a New Brunswick poet living in Riverview. She writes about seeing and showing the world. She blogs at Carol Steel.
Whether writing poetry or receiving a photograph, Carol talks about “becoming still, attentive to what is offered, letting go expectation and being open to possibility and surprise.”
On this spring day, take time to practice these four contemplative movements. I wonder what burst of colour you will see?