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!
found an old poem from baby felix
3 weeks ago