End of Winter
I stumbled on a picture I took a week ago
While I was out walking after spending days inside;
Doing the obligatory loop around the neighborhood
To survey the aftermath of winter's final gasp.
We'd had two feet of snow upon the ground
Just a few days ago. Then the warm winds came,
Brought back the drizzle, making mush
Of all that sound-softening blanket
That had made a reverent place of our little wood,
For a day or two and kept us warm and snug inside.
Now all that's left are traces piled in chunks
Along the streets and sidewalks where
Travelers afoot and drivers wheeling along the road
Had pushed the snow up in piles beside the ditches.
A few sturdy hunks of white remain, softly sheening,
A glaze laid on by relentless mist and rain.
Green grass, watered slowly pushes up behind
The snow as it is gently washed away,
And the wood is not so quiet anymore, the birds not so reverent
And spring is here again with a frenzy of demands.