Nascent Spring

The hills still wear their faded Army drabs.
Used motor oil oozes where the Snake River should be.
Naked trees stand exposed beneath a blue-less sky.
Dusty, dirty leaves lie crumpled,
cluttering the banks of a small stream,
and someone certainly must have sprayed
the shrinking snowbanks with leftover watercolor water.

But like a fetus gestating in its mother’s womb
tiny water cress plants grow in a trickle of runoff
and baby ferns peek from beneath
the brittle brownness of last year’s reeds,
heralding the imminent greenness that
will sprout from every tree and spring
from every hill until the whole world
is swollen with summer.

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About Judy Grigg Hansen
I write poetry and nonfiction, and I am passionate about the people, places, and wildflowers of Idaho and the Northwest.

One Response to Nascent Spring

  1. Dick Grigg says:

    What you say is unfolding right before my eyes. Thanks, Dad

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