Spring has drawn a curtain such
that I cannot see far or deep into the woods
and even though in February grey and brown
I long for her nubile leaves and exploring vines
that satisfy my need for renewal,
I secretly hold dear the moments
viewed on cold trails
or searching through frosted glass
peering past the rows of rough bark
and gnarled branch hoping to find
seeking to know
the secrets of the hills
and boulders,
caressing their broad shoulders
and cambered thighs
loving them and knowing that
they will soon drop behind the soft green curtain
finding their flirtatious privacy only
in the company of the growing chaos of the forest.
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