"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.