The trembling trees, stripped naked against the stern sky,
Throw up skeletal arms in despair at the callous cruelty of the bitter wind.
The freezing fields become a no-man’s-land
Between entrenched winter and the divided forces of autumn and spring.
Darkness, decay and devastation remain as a testament to this season of desolation.
Autumn has fallen but spring will ever win,
hotly pursued by summer’s triumphal parade.

Thaw’s hammer opens the sarcophagus lake,
Streams of bubbles, hope-filled, rise to the surface,
Tiny green shoots peep out warily in hedgerow and garden,
The birds begin to build and the buds bulge.

The power and the glory of spring,
Coiled and compressed beneath the weight of winter,
Rolls away the heart-stopping stone of death and breaks free,
Dancing exuberantly for joy, broadcasting the songs of new life.

Insects hum in the pollen-sweet air above the emerald patchwork,
Bold colours blaze into being as the floral flags of victory are unfurled,
Earth and heaven meet on the shimmering blue horizon
And the almighty sun ascends, leading the dance over the cloud-capped hills.

John Ward February 2006