Early Spring

Listening to Townes sing

about growing old

as I drive back north

into the last of winter,

a battlefield strewn

with old snow corpses

in the ditches,

under the black-eyed aspen

and between the stoic pines.

We’re hard on the cusp

of mud season and open water,

if only I could tell the cranes.

Maybe I’ll dig another bed

in the little garden,

open the earth by spadefulls

and uncover things long unseen.

Crows know about early spring,

a time for pecking at whatever remains

from the season before last.


About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s