Late Winter

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.