Like a wave,

it cannot be stopped.

Surely does the snow fall. Surely does it give way to another cold, rainless early spring. The air is damp, cool. The clouds perch above. Immovable, unyielding, the clouds withhold their gifts from the dry earth.

Walking through the air, cool, damp. The clouds are to let loose today. No, two days from now. No, wait until next week, maybe then.

The seeds wait in the earth. Cattails are red spears, they wait, too.

Field garlic is unperturbed. Green, it awaits eating or is forgotten when selecting a Vidalia at the market. Rose is breaking its buds.

The first eastern phoebe of my spring was heard today at Jacob's Creek.

Like a wave, it cannot be stopped.