Joyous Spring

Joyous Spring Zephyr

Joyous Spring tries to squeeze itself from
winter's dark, dreary landscape.
Moody, layered gray clouds fill and block the blue sky,
slide north toward the mountains.

There is a soft, warm waft of wind,
tickling the chimes, belly dancing with the swaying pine trees.
Barren maple tree's red buds wave in the silent breeze as I
sense the change to cold that is about to slap me in the face.

The first robins sit on candelabra branches,
sing accapella without abandon,
search for some shelter in which to build their delicate nests.

Two majestic chicken hawks seem suspended in the draft,
soaring round and round in search of prey,
perhaps for a mouse or a snake that will serve as dinner.

I sit and contemplate the coming end of my time here.
Not of my death,
but rather the movement into the next phase of my life.

I love this piece of land I call my home,
this plot of earth from which I reap my food, my sustenance, from which my soul is nourished
this place in which my dog can roam free.

I will close my eyes, open my nostrils,
then hold back the tears and remember this moment.

Now the sky is sky-blue blemish-free
with occasional vaporous wisps of white transparent clouds floating east like an army peering
and then lifting over the mountains.

There are those 2 hawks circling again
like some long lost friends of mine
floating on air over the valley
like kings of the horizon.

Dennis Wayne Bressack
Woodstock, New York
March 5, 2016