Now green, where once no green.
Where only once white and grey, and the tinge of hazy mirror,
and blue imagined. Like late May on this thrust into water,
where winter is so long, the snow so deep,
the signs towering to be seen.
Still no crocuses, even in the southern-facing corner.
But, yes, splinters of green
in the trees, mixing with the birch's white
all but in that one stand, where we mistook snow falling.
Soon: burgeoning and proliferation.
And your face turned to the sun with all its warmth.
The glacier's scraps float nearby, and then the rock,
so solid, so permanent. And then this.
How lovely this spongy clump, this verdant growth,
this jumbled assemblage! How soft!
How new and telling.