April Snow
By Linda Mills Woolsey Raw. The morning claws its way into existence. A season of cold for every season of bloom. So this is the winter of blackberries-- the walk shines against white-dappled grass, a scar of snow forms against the maple stump, slush gathers in the curves of the tulip leaves, in the cups of the daffodils, on the phone wires dazed robins refuse to sing. ~~~~~ Next: Solstice |