It’s here in the barren land
where fireflies and crocuses sleep.
Soon dewdrop breath will drip
along the eaves.
The time is now to search
the Maple and bore a new hole.
A strong trunk (no wounds)
will give us sap candy.
It’s here the last silken snow slips
through thread-bare trees,
and a leaf skeleton shivers alone
to greet the next budburst.
Flutes whistle in the treetops
and stun winter into repose.