Lenten Time. (A poem)

I read with great envy the stories of those who live in coastal climes and southern states where spring is in bloom and grasses turn from winter brown to springtime green.

Here, at the edge of the Rockies, on the windward side of winter, spring is not yet ready to awaken.

I hunger for the spring. For warm winds and birdsong, for crocus pushing up through softened, muddy soils. I hunger and in the waiting of this Lenten time, I breathe deeply into patience and renewal and coming home again to my heart awakening to the promise of new birth, new life, new hope, a new season of change.

In honour of our winter days not yet kissed by spring's caress, I offer my poem of waiting for spring.

Lenten Time

Winter lingers
in this season of waiting
pushing against the celebration
of spring's promise edging up against
filigree quilts of snowy down
melting
and filling in
melting
and filling in.

Spring stalls
against winter's hungry tongue
licking at the frost
clinging desparately to the roots
of springtime promises
beckoning
new life in
beckoning
new life in.

Winter silences
fall into the edge of spring
awakening slowly
beneath the sun soaked soil
warmed by the kiss of sun, light
lengthening
into spring
lengthening
into spring.