Wednesday, March 20, 2013

"Here in the Time Between" by Jack Ridl


Here in the time between snow
and the bud of the rhododendron,
we watch the robins, look into


the gray, and narrow our view
to the patches of wild grasses
coming green. The pile of ashes


in the fireplace, haphazard sticks
on the paths and gardens, leaves
tangled in the ivy and periwinkle


lie in wait against our sill. This
drawing near of renewal, of stems
and blossoms, the hesitant return


of the anarchy of mud and seed
says not yet to the blood's crawl.
When the deer along the stream


look back at us, we know again
we have left them. We pull
a blanket over us when we sleep.


As if living in a prayer, we say
amen to the late arrival of red,
the stun of green, the muted yellow


at the end of every twig. We will
lift up our eyes unto the trees hoping
to discover a gnarled nest within


the branches' negative space. And
we will watch for a fox sparrow
rustling in the dead leaves underneath.

"Here in the Time Between" by Jack Ridl, from Practicing to Walk Like a Heron.
© Wayne State University Press, 2013.

Postscript: As I took these photos I saw a fox sparrow rustling in the dead leaves under these branches. Happy Spring.

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