Lenten Spring
The morning sky rises on
another Ash Wednesday.
Forty days of grey ahead,
the slow penitential pilgrimage
toward Easter light.
But there is rebellion in the yard,
resisting the ascetic season:
green crocus spears pierce the frozen soil,
refusing to wait for warmer paschal breezes.
And the holy Spotted Towhee sings
much too cheerful a religious song,
leading astray the juncos, with the
innocent chickadees following along.
Trillium and snowdrops stealthily
smuggle in a riot of color:
palettes of burgundy and white gone wild!
And before you know it,
even the sun becomes beguiled,
peeking out behind the clouds,
spilling a bucketful of light
down into the barren branches
with the alleged signature of God,
though just as quickly hiding again,
as if chastened by the church bells
ringing somewhere off in the distant fog.