It has a sound, a fullness.
It's heavy with sigh of tree,
and space between breaths.
It's ripe with pause between birdsong
and crash of surf.
It's golden they say.
But no one tells us it's addictive
our land was beginning to show itself
black soil damp from the melting
today the snow returns
a fresh cloak
to silence spring
I will sit in the quiet of this day
asking patience and peace
to settle with the gray
seeking the stillness with Sandy