Early, Early Spring: Professor Sinistra Reflects

The days are shifting, winter-blue to summer-green.
The wheel of seasons changing, day by day.
The point on the horizon where the sun appears
each morning as the darkness fades away
is moving farther north each time I look at it—
today that hilltop, soon that notch, that tor.
I know where due east is. What joy to see the sun
attain that landmark on its journey north.

If I arise while still the sky is velvet-black,
the pre-dawn hours that the Spaniards call
la madrugada (but we have no word for it
in English), and the trees are black and tall,
I see the summer stars ascending in the east,
first Vega, and then Deneb and Altair,
the Summer Triangle. They tell me, “Patience, friend.
We shall not fail you. Spring is in the air.�
The constellation of the Swan, its wings outstretched
so wide, is flying down the Milky Way.
As morning comes, the bright’ning sky will blot it out.
The world appears. The trees again are gray.

Their spiky, leafless twigs hold not a hint of green,
but reds and tans are stirring in the bark.
The sap is rising. Cold though it may be, they sense
the lengthening of light, retreat of dark.

The tiny woodland animals are stirring too,
and briefly they emerge from underground
to leave their tracks on patches of unmelted snow
where autumn’s fruits and seeds may still be found.
“A happy new year, little friends,� I say to them.
“We all await the coming of the spring.
Stay safe below until the grass grows tall again.
The hungry hawks and owls are on the wing.�

The vernal equinox is many weeks away.
The rain is cold. The sunlit days are few.
My eagerness for light and warmth avails me not.
Life has its own timetable to renew.
My brother calls this season “early, early spring.�
A farmer, he, who sees the subtle sign.
Like him, I sense the turning of the ancient wheel,
the life awakening, the world’s design.