Who made these fairy footprints in the snow? I follow them over the hill, quietly, stealthily, but glimpse only a doe-brown flash vanishing among the trees.
Shhhhh! Listen! Who is singing, sighing, softly? Beneath ice, the creek warbles back to life after throat-cracking drought.
The sky is blue, but I hear Rain, rain, slip, drip, splash! Who is raining this sunny afternoon? The snow slip-sliding off the barn roof, ten-thousand tiny drops, sledding off a precipice into the freedom of sunshine.
A piper trills a shrill melody, silver notes slicing chilly air. Who whistles this warning of impending spring? A flash of gold, a smart black ascot, meadowlark flits from stem to stem.
Muck. Schluck. Squishhhh! Who has wet toes, freezy feet from tromping the thawing countryside? Me!
3 months ago