Cold Spring

The Equinox has passed.
Spring is here.
No matter that the wind is cutting,
and piles of old snow still litter the ground,
and the pond freezes up at night,
to the consternation of the Canada geese
who land on the frozen surface
slipping and sliding
like drunken skaters.
They fall through the ice where it is thin
and paddle frantically,
pushing with their chests against chunks of ice,
and make a watery path to the far shore,
where they graze like horses, tugging with their beaks on frozen blades of grass.
The sky is gray - it could be a snow sky.
Perhaps rain, if the temperature holds, just above freezing.
Whatever...
The air is dark; it holds little heat.
Suddenly, the crow of spring dusk
cries out,
full of longing.