In Springtime's Warming

It was, a week ago, ice, 

frozen solid to bear my weight,

hold me up crossing this stream

meandering through these Maine woods

I, too, meander, out this spring day,

sneaking out, the chores and to do list

left behind to clear my head of winter,

clogged again, or perhaps still frozen, solid;

but a week hence, today, it flows wildly, black and clear,

the ice thin and cracked and broken,

and snow-fed, rushing lake-ward, oblivious

of rocks and roots and obstacles, winter’s debris

pushed aside or carried along, a white-capped

torrent following a shallow path made wider

and deeper, its strength and power growling,

growling as it grows, constant now in my ears,

focused as it is on a downhill course, coursing

to the lake, to an end greater than itself,

feeding itself on spring, feeding itself into the lake,

a lake slow to wake in springtime’s warming,

sluggish perhaps, ice-laden, and breaking up at the edges’

opening, leisurely spreading outward, stream-fed,

a stream a week ago but ice, frozen solid

to bear my weight and hold me up;

and I, I am like the lake right now,

slowly waking into spring, stream-fed

by life’s great strength and power coursing, but slow,

slowly opening up in my own time, leisurely,

meandering here through these Maine woods,

sneaking out to clear my head of winter,

slowly waking up to the summer months ahead.