A rondel for spring
Through reeds as high as our knees we run. Hints of deep red, blue -
the flowers are returning. Winter's giving way. The air,
patient, drifts across the open fields. For months we didn't think to care
if light stayed later. An empty distance held us ... stilled us, too.
Gray sky shaped patterns on the walls. We felt its drowse move through.
Can light be dark, weighted as memory? You steel yourself. Keep unaware.
Through reeds as high as our knees we'd run. Hints of deep red, blue -
the flowers are returning. Winter's giving way. The air
urges our minds toward spring. At the river's bank, we've nothing to do
but take our time. How long since something sat us down - a tree, a tear
in the sky made white by brilliant clouds? Dark falls back, and where
we were is left behind. To be makes sense again. Like children do,
through reeds as high as our knees we'll run. Hints of deep red, blue....
(c) Copyright 2001. The Christian Science Monitor
