WISCONSIN SPRING

The backs of the fishermen meld into dappled undergrowth.
Along the river they disappear, fishing rods held tight.
Left alone, below the rapids, I spot the flash
of Steelhead trout fighting the current in dying leaps.
Birches fling themselves about in a sudden burst of wind,
branches arrayed in startling yellow-green,
summoning spring with loud cries.

In still waters among the rushes and lilies,
blackbird mothers weave suspended nests.
Blackbird fathers yodel warnings from the treetops.
A green heron strikes from a river-soaked log,
his beak flashing rapier-like in the sun.
A rainbow trout twists and flaps,
then disappears down his gullet in a gulp.

The sun sifts through shadows, touching and warming,
calling life forth from the forest floor.
First flowers answer with scattered spring greetings,
May Flowers, Hepatica, Bloodroot, and Buttercups,
hiding brown leaf litter and cloaking old pine needles.
Wounds caused by winter quickly heal with new growth.
Sights and sounds surround me while solace drifts through me .

Soon a harsh shriek signals anguish nearby;
what wraith in the underbrush wrests comfort away?
A fox leaps to the open, lopes past with his prey.
He races to his den, his family to feed.
No wraith this, but life; no phantom, just hunger.
Peril and promise, winter and spring, dashed hope
gleams with sunrise, shadows melt in the trees.

Poem by Mary Joan Meagher

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Copyright:by Mary Joan Meagher: © 2004

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