-This poem reflects on the first appearance of green in spring and the quiet wonder of seeing life begin again in the smallest visible ways.
long the fence, beside the stone,
the smallest blades begin to show,
so thin they seem made out of light,
yet bright enough to change the field.
What yesterday was winter brown,
now answers with a tender fire,
a green so new it almost hurts,
to look at what the earth can do.
It comes in whispers, not in waves,
a little color through the dirt,
a quiet claim, a soft return,
to all that waited through the cold.
No fullness crowns the world just yet,
no garden spills its summer grace,
but here at last the season speaks,
in the first green syllables of life.