A hiking trail in early March

By Daniel Charland

Brown and brown and sometimes brown:

in vying shades of leftover leaf, brittle bark,

the inedible chocolate pudding of ground

smearing on boots and pooling in puddles.

Little Spring’s new room is a mess, the

leafy confetti from her baby shower to

Autumnal Matron late last year

litters the floor, the itchy trees at her

birthday shifting, restless, waiting

for the party to liven up.

White and white and sometimes brown:

the wintery egg from which she hatched

bits of shell still everywhere, cracking

into fragments, dissolving, revealing

the malleable chocolate yoke under.

Hatch, grow, and come into your own,

Little Spring. Scribble your colorful

crayons on the walls and floor.

Make me no longer at risk of sliding

downhill and being covered in your

primordial essence. Babble your songs

in the empty sky and fill my ears with

anything but the ruffle of my jacket

sleeves rubbing as I walk.

Green and blue and sometimes brown,

your messy birth, with a bit of pain,

completely worth the price.

Please hurry.

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Written By :

Daniel Charland is a staff writer for The Lorian.

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