Indian Spring

There - with the sky still so dark
and the air so brittle and crisp
that if anything in this tapestry
should shift the scene would
snap and there would be left a
jagged seam to gaze on.

A break in the beginning colors
of the day moving on slowly over
the flatness of horizons, streamed
through barriers of branches
still towering and alive and
breathing unseen just under the
surface.

There was warmth offered in the
span of one day, then vanishing
sudden, now the trees are bitter
with hope of a false Spring, persuaded
minutes, hours into nearly opening
full just for us.