Lake Garret

Early morning sunbeams paint muted 

reflections of bare oak branches and the needles of pines.

They reach to the other side, 

trying to close the circle 

they have been holding in time.

A splash disrupts the stillness 

as the basking grey shell 

of a turtle falls in for a swim. 

Ripples of light now play tag 

on the bark of the mottled Alder 

while a sparrow starts to sing.

Flecks of mica flash down the rooted path 

guiding the way and conjuring memories 

of children collecting buckets of gold. 

The frog and the honey bee 

are still deep in their dreams.

But the peaceful slumber is no match 

for the restlessness of undergrowth 

and the changing sun.

Introverts slither to warm their scaly skin.

Geese honk and flap in their quest to create new life.

And squirrels punctuate the air with the flick of their tails.

Soon the parchment leaves will stop their shivering 

and be pushed off by the daggers of unfurling green.

Apart from the evergreens and the cloudless sky, 

the world is still beige and grey. 

Empty acorns litter the spongy ground 

and tall, tawny grass bows to the still crisp breeze.

Further down the wooded path, 

There is a flash of buttery yellow 

where beaver work has opened up the canopy, 

making room for daffodils to sing their late-season song.

And just like that, winter is gone.