Patches of snow, heavy of ice and blackened with grit
hold on to winter’s last grip;
Whilst all around sprout blades of grass
that turn all the shades of green;
And crocuses push above the soil
in all their glory of purples and yellows and blues.
Bright red-breasted robins dance about the warm soft ground;
Listening and watching and hauling up tasty fat worms.
As they fly up to their newly built nests
their beaks overflow with their catch.
Woodpeckers compete in calling their mates
as they hammer on hollow old oak and ash;
And the sounds echo across the valley
as they swoop from tree to tree
And send out warning calls to their rivals.
The birch trees are the first to bud and leaf
and begin to flutter in the warm Spring breeze
As catkins fall to the ground like confetti.
There is the gentle hum of bumble bees
and wasps buzz about seeking nesting spots.
Below them a myriad of ants roam the still muddy earthen floor
hunting for food,
And they drag their goods like soldiers
marching over the dark dense forests.
Old man Winter has lost his hold
and the circle of life continues
As Spring bounds forward in all her glory.