SPRING Sun shines on the melting bank, the gruel-gray path. Eaves of our stone cottage sparkle with dripping, light- filled drops. This morning, I learn again how things quicken, frozen to thaw, solid to flow, how constant is life's trans- formation. At the wood, deer leave uneven tracks. Sparrows etch criss- cross cuneiform on the dying snow. I too bequeath my mark, lend my bones their hour on the land, sink into the magic of new mud. SWALLOWS for Toots…
E. Louise BeachApril 16, 2005