for Sythia, we hope

Yesterday there was a large puddle in the driveway. Today, the puddle and 99% of the snow and ice covering the drive are gone. We surmise that indicates the frozen ground has thawed to allow percolation. Observable water is beginning to show in the back yard wet spot.

Some of winter's water will evaporate into the atmosphere, to return as clouds and rain; some will flow over the land to become tributaries and rivers; some will flow through the soil as groundwater. Thanks to those waters, soon our gray, dreary days will be transformed into blue skies, scattered white clouds, green leaves and rainbows of wildflowers. But meantime, we must maneuver mad March's muddy messiness.

(forced) forsythia in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

We know it's way too early to anticipate blooms on our lilac and forsythia bushes, but we also know that local floral shops often have forced blooms for sale about this time of year. We're going to keep our eyes open, and maybe even go exploring, for a spray of forsythia in bloom. Until the promise of Spring is honored, we need all the help we can get to remember what it was once like. It's been a long four seasons since Spring 2020.

Mud Season

By Tess Taylor

We unstave the winter’s tangle.

Sad tomatoes, sullen sky.

 

We unplay the summer’s blight.

Rotted on the vine, black fruit

 

swings free of the strings that bound it.

In the compost, ghost melon; in the fields(,)

 

grotesque extruded peppers.

We prod half-thawed mucky things.

 

In the sky, starlings eddying.

Tomorrow, snow again, old silence.

 

Today, the creaking icy puller.

Last night I woke

 

to wild unfrozen prattle.

Rain on the roof— a foreign liquid tongue.

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