Earlier than Yesterday, Later than Tomorrow

An early April morning, still

frozen in the beginning days

of spring; the darkness weakens now

into daylight, earlier than yesterday,

later than tomorrow, and I can hear,

faintly, miles from where I stand,

the shifting gears of commerce

on the distant hill’s descent

into town, the big rigs hauling logs

and goods passing through to Greenville

and the woods beyond, slowing down,

even as I have these winter days,

lingering here in the darkness

waning and listening to the season

changing, the crack of ice giving way,

stretching as the lake awakens and shakes

off its frozen garb; the call of birds

among the trees about their own business,

the business of springtime nesting;

and my own self, slowed down,

passing, too, through to the woods

beyond myself, earlier than yesterday,

later than tomorrow, darkness weakened,

waning.