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,

reflexively clinging

to the cold,

to the hard and to sharp, yet spring

will come, whether we welcome it or not.

one morning

yesterday’s steps

will be gone, and this ground

will again become pliable, this ice

will soften and run

leaving only

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