Primavera Comes

Primavera Comes Lightly she descends-- her feet move toward us, over the crest of the Vermont hills. In her footsteps spring vernal pools; in her hair are golden willow twigs, tangled goldfinches with black-barred wings fluttering. As she passes, her breath breathes early violets and crushed grass, mixed with notes of woodsmoke and diesel. She skirts the dusty tractor tilting down by the brook; the hem of her garment trails tin cans and gum wrappers. At night the peepers sing her coming in diminishing chorus Harmonizing with a faint police siren from the next valley. Stars are her sprinkled diadem, Milky Way flowing slow as time, through black cutouts of trees; outshown by streetlights. Tattered, rain-blown, discouraged, still she comes to us, Arms scattering lilacs. -- Peggy Brightman (c) 2016