You have to know what winter brings:
the bold insinuation of Woodwinds
(changing the lay of the land with drifting snow);
to understand an Overture to Spring.
When the sun beats down like a conductor,
the drumming crescendo,
the ice fracturing on the lake,
the clanging of cymbals accelerando,
the wall of water rising
squeezed between concussive strikes.
Brass shrill but thrilling to the ear
followed by the thunderous response
of the entire orchestral movement
as if the earth itself was heaving
to relieve itself of the icy strain
that clogged its membranes.
Decrescendo as freeze departs,
but more persistent as it embarks
on a sinuous course.
The Strings break forth,
soft murmurings of springs
penetrating the groundswell of buds
as each rehearses their imprinted part.
There will be false starts
when the temperature drops,
faux snow, but soon awakening
as they play to the rains
and raise their flowering heads in praise.
A chorus of startled chirps,
and trumpeted outcries
break through the solemn passage rites
loosening Winter’s stronghold
of the tiniest green Soul.