The sun was cold, the day bright and still;
The leaves moved briskly across the trail, moistened with Spring.
Another silent pass, an occasional grunted Easter cough
And some itinerant hikers collected the circle today.
Beneath the spruce the stumps watched with jealousy as
A short distance past, the sun held its own
On the mossed-over rocks, and near them
A few green pines, ready to march upwards this summer.
The lake threw its glittering aluminum blue waves
Across brisk winds- a northern cold touched the Poet today.
The hands held firm within the old brown corduroy coat.
The squinting made his forehead ache
But around the corner, another spruce, alone,
Stood waiting, greeting him
As if he was a recovered lover from a lost eve.
Stopping briefly he nodded and acknowledged the sentiment
As the steps he made home collided with the mud in otherwise remorseful plods.