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.