-This poem reflects on how spring first arrives as a change in light, touching the still bare world with warmth and quiet radiance.
Morning enters the trees in silence,
a pale gold caught in the fine black lace,
of winter branches still unleafed,
still waiting, still open to the sky.
Nothing has opened, not yet,
but the light has changed its mind,
it lingers longer on the bark,
it warms the fence, the frozen path.
Each limb holds a little fire,
not of flame, but something near,
a brightness thin as early breath,
a hush the whole field seems to hear.
The world remains in careful outline,
but now it glows from what it gathers,
and even the barest living thing,
can shine before it blooms.