Poem: Equinox

The blue has returned, a harbinger

of the next generation of robins,

the bold hydrangeas on the neighbor’s bush

 

but that’s all in the planning just now.

There is white snow and shreds of white cloud

the meltwater rushing over gravel

 

and everywhere a song: the wild laugh

of the woodpecker, the sigh of lovelorn

chickadees, the blackbirds’ electric trill

crocus

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About whitecatgrove

The musings of a Druid priestess, singer, poet and musician in Upstate New York.
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