Signs of Life

 I am still struggling--the absence of poetry from my blog is stark testament to that fact.  

But I am not quite ready to be consigned to you, good sir!

Rather, I am like the angry, rushing Little Miami, lashing out at my confinements, 

seeking to carve out something new.

If winter has not quite released its hold on me, it is fading

And there are signs of spring, like this plump robin in the yard

And this brave sparrow contemplating a bath.

 

Winter aconite blooms brightest after bitter cold

And these youngsters seem extra frisky!

How I long to run and play with them

With no thought to future perils.

But I am more woodpecker than lamb these days

Pecking away, slow but steady,

 

Fluffed against the lingering chill.

This, too, will pass. 

 Or so the squirrels say.

I generally take them at their word.  Besides,

I saw two redwinged blackbirds yesterday!