Bog Spring

The stiff corn-gold stalks
of last years cat tails
sway in the gentle breeze.

A red winged black bird lights,
right leg stiffly below,
as his left leg bends up
and grabs hold near crown height.

The snow upon the bog is rotting
as the air grows warmer.
The central channel opens,
revealing a gentle current.

The air is crisp,
and I feel the burn of life
wake my lungs to depths
not felt over the winter.

It is still early in the year,
and yet the chirps and rattles
that signal life within the wetland
begin the blossomed symphony
in celebration of another year.

Life begins again.