-Willful Unsprung Strolling-

The trail is still ice. We have all thawed, and are thinking about shorts. But under the trees by the stream where everyone expects spring to meet them like an old friend at an airport; there it is still a wintry mud. The trail won’t put down her bags or even lift her arms when we give her a hug. We all go in for it anyway, we want to walk in the woods. To carry spring’s things and put her up for the night while she gets settled in town. We are resolute because it is fifty degrees. This means it is time. We say things about how nice it is out, and then go sliding and tripping. Yet, she doesn’t laugh at our jokes, and all the pauses are awkward. We slosh. We look at the geese. Watch our feet and put our arms out at frictionless angles. It is time for this ice to...