Capturing Spring

In a field of soon-to-be crops

Fresh growth tickles my skin,

I navigate clouds swimming

Across the sky as they blanket the sun,

The air cools only briefly as a breeze carries

A comforting scent of new life across my face.



At brook harboring water to its end I lean-

Over an iron barrel that bridges the walkway,

My fingertips dance atop the water, grazing leaves

As they glide through-

Only to muddle at a lone branch suspended between banks.



My hair hangs like the long-stretched branches

Of a weeping willow tree thirsting to drink from the water below.

Their tips dampen, shrivel and fall cold upon my neck-

I stand and they nestle against my skin as if for warmth.



I take a path through the woodlot-

With a stick as my guide I comb the understory-

Sifting cool tiny fragments of earth through my fingers

Investigating veins that surge through a leaf.



I trudge along the path canopied by the ageless trees staring down

Like watchers; I reach the edge looking back-

Capturing spring.



Laurie Griffith