Snow falls heavy, thick, but on the trees pink buds, tiny, wait ~~~
All winter the lawn has loafed under its thick white quilt and wakes in April, tousle-headed, crusty-edged, and with the freshest shoots of weeds curled cheekily in its damp, bare places. Afternoon sun, a stiff rake, and the layabout sits, chastened, scrubbed and alert: waiting to don a new green suit.
March lies covered under thick snow. Brown leaves have clung all winter to the stunted oak, rustling loudly as bitter wind drives across the tundra of the yard. They will fall in spring. Any day now, by the calendar. The hare's prints trace her hunt for any not-yet-gnawed shoots above the waist-deep drifts. We all … Continue reading Common magic