it’s mud season here
tipping from winter into spring
though so far the earth
seems a bit behind the sky.
if I walk these hills early
yesterday’s footprints are deep
and hard, and what will later
become puddles are still frozen
and cracked, broken.
as we all are broken, all
incorporating our share of mud,
carrying our own embarrassing stones
yet still smooth
on the surface, still shiny.
it’s almost as if we’re afraid of spring,
to the cold,
to the hard and to sharp, yet spring
will come, whether we welcome it or not.
will be gone, and this ground
will again become pliable, this ice
will soften and run
the faint trace of its passing
leaving only this irregular ring
of moist fertile soil
leaving, despite all
of our terrible fears, no stain
whatsoever on the sweet green face
of this earth
© J.A. Fink 2013