Late Winter in Lincoln, MA
February 20th
Flames lick the bulging sepals
Of the Quince buds
As forsythia’s yellow peeks through the green.
Rivulets trickle
From beneath shrinking snow piles
And broken backed stonewalls
Lumber along leaf littered paths.
In the farmer’s desolate field,
Mirrored troughs
On tractor trails
Reflect naked sugar maples
Edged in gold
As a sun strobe
Illuminates
Sap buckets
Already collecting
The sweetness of spring.
Sweetness of spring indeed. Bring it on! The buckets are up on the maples already and I saw people emptying full pails the other day. The sap is running. The world is waking up from a long hibernation.
ReplyDeleteClear and sweet. Only difference with your photo is that there is two feet of snow on the ground! Love the poem. Had to look up sepal.