I see, now, that the path has become green,
where I walk past the fields, standing brown and still, daily, back and forth.
Each time, waiting and watching for that defining moment—
the one act that, with it, brings the certainty of the emergence of spring.
While, beneath my feet, with every pass, it moves steadily forward.
And from the woods, this eager green,
each day, too, grows stronger,
along each branch of the steadfast,
very first to fill the bare space.
Yet, the change, so subtle, with every day’s watching,
I barely recognize that point at which the path turned.
Until, onto brown from blue, 2 on gossamer wings tumble.
And touch briefly, as if to anoint this spot not yet woken.
And bring, with certainty, joy.
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