The celandines are out, at last
Their yellow
stars shining with spring promise
Amongst the
dark, glistening green
Of ivy
leaves and overwintered fern fronds.
In my hands I
hold a hunk of beech-wood
Hewn from a green
giant felled in the stormy woods.
Split and
seasoned,
Through the
heat and haze of long summer days,
It will
provide me with warmth and light
And slow
burning hope
Amongst the
dark days and long nights next winter
Until the sudden
star-burst of celandines
Heralds the dawning
of spring once more.
As I leave
the woods,
Filled with
fairy gold,
A woodpecker
beats out a rhythm
On a tree
trunk surging with rising sap.
