SUGAR MAPLES IN MARCH
by John Grey
Cold nights still grip trunks fierce
but days are warmer,
and when shadows lift,
sap rises.
The weather is like
an unwitting cook
following an ancient recipe:
freeze then thaw then freeze again.
Spikes are hammered into bark.
Buckets wait beneath, mouths open.
Dregs of gray snow
live out their last days.
Birds whistle joy
at the shape the world is taking.
The tapping of the trees
is but a modest annotation
to great changes coming.
And yet, a drop forms at the edge
of that iron spigot,
eventually falls,
hits bottom with a silent ping.
Winter can go now.
Gyroscope Review - page 2!