Spring comes as if we were forgiven.
The sprouting leaves evince a Resurrection,
The beaver rushes out to mend his dams
And we repair the road.
I hear the voices of the woods,
The crows in the cemetery
The lone piper on the campsite.
We get to know the river.
The shadows in the distant mountains
Make us all one.
And at night, above the candles and the wine
Laughing and talking
Making our recordings upon time.
I do not dream about next summer
For the peacock’s full maturity
Nor can I believe with assurance
I shall see again the Autumn leaves
But be content to know the corners of
Each minute, each hour, each day.

At Daniel’s Mountain 'til I go home.