Spring Scene
In the early morning sun
a single drop of dew sparkles
atop a single blade of grass,
as the soft breeze coaxes from it
a silent shimmering spectrum.
A cardinal calls--
another answers--
the drop of dew evaporates
under the sun that made it shine.
The kids are crazed this morning,
four weeks old, the gray, leaner and
more delicate, the black, more deeply
muscled and a bit dim,
but both with mom's floppy gray ears,
they gambol in the grass,
disturbing the dew sparkling in the sun,
creating a starry universe in the yard.
The gray springs off the steps, arching
over the bottom three, touches
down for only a moment, forelegs
first, hind legs flying past
them so that for the next two steps
she is running sideways around to the gate;
then wheeling, she whirls
once, twice, thrice, and she is
here, next to the food dish,
here, near the magnolias,
here, before the steps looking hopefully
at the black who sits watching from under my knee,
who answers the challenge, repeating the cycle,
but with variations, there
at the hay basket, there
at the fence, there
at the post in the middle of the yard
to which their mother is tethered--
she watches quietly, occasionally,
and browses through the tender
new greens--another spring in the back yard.
The cool morning breeze
makes the leaves shimmer
and the shadows move as the sun
climbs higher; the yard is quiet
except for the songs of unseen birds,
and the thunder of tiny hooves.
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