Whispers of Spring

White and grey for as far as the eye can see, but still, there are whispers of spring…

Green moss clings on to the trunk of a great american elm,

as if you say you have to wait a little while longer to unwrap the gift of spring.

Soft patches of wet brown earth begin to show themselves,

emerging from underneath their white blankets.

A singular squirrel, perhaps awoken from her slumber a fortnight too early,

climbs upto the tallest branch of a tupelo tree to take in the transformation her home has gone through

while she was dreaming of warmer days.

In the center of a vast expanse of solid ice, a patch of thawed lake comes to life.

I do not know where the ducks have been all winter,

but they are back, and I am grateful for it.

And as the sun sets on Central Park, it paints over a white canvas

in rose gold brush strokes.

A smiling gibbous looks down at me and tells me to be patient.

There is still some snow left to fall.