-This poem explores the first subtle signs of spring as the frozen world begins to soften and hidden life quietly stirs beneath the surface.
Beneath the last hard skin of ice,
the earth begins its quiet turning,
water loosens in the ditch,
and dark soil breathes below the frost.
The trees stand bare, still listening,
their branches fine against the pale,
while underfoot the rooted things
prepare their green without a sound.
A single drop slips from the eaves,
then another, then a silver run,
and in the fields the thawing ground
takes back the weight of winter rain.
Nothing blooms yet, not quite,
but something hidden has begun,
a tender pressure in the world,
a promise waking in the mud.