-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
warm up to the idea of sandwiches.
It is time for tea, and caramelized sugar.

It is time to put this slush in the trunk,
and catch up with her while
we drive home.

Maybe it will thaw up after she sleeps in
her own bed for a few nights.
It is good that she is back. At least- we are happy to see her.

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