Today starts Daylight Savings Time. That is, for me, a more definite indication of Spring.
I wrote this poem several years ago and usually post it at this time of year.
Seasons of Change
Arrogance of a long, black neck
curving tall among the wild onions
the Canada gander stands guard.
Turns of his head are clear:
flashing the white, vivid splash
behind each suspicious eye.
Long, dusk-shadowed wings that know so many miles
much as a man’s clasped hands;
like a department store floorwalker.
she, busily, practically
nibbling tender, green shoots
ignoring all else.
Sometime before dawn,
someone up early, or across the lake
probably heard the calls to assembly,
watched the twenty-two lift,
form a ragged wedge and turn for home
in the usual way,
and marked the changing of seasons.
Have these two mistaking the chill
of a late-march Alabama night
for the cool of their nesting grounds?
Having chosen to stay in this backwater
a little longer;
their path to the north will be quieter
without the clangor of the flock,
traveling their own track
making their own seasons of change.