After a Mid-March Snowstorm
Winter’s last silent sigh
is borne quietly by mountain pines
Clouds drift like tumblers until
they unlock the day’s first color
Five mourning doves gather on close branches.
But the sky in the trees is too miserable for mourning.
Even the earth will not accept the night’s snow
which sits in clumps on the ground like oil on water.
It highlights fallen trees on the mountain slope
showing all the directions down can take you.
Between the shed and a crack in the clouds
two bluejays mate in a flurry on a fallen ladder.