Spring is here, as I sit in the
middle of the wind. Blowing the
dust from my eyelids, I see light.
The woods are awake, woodpecker,
with his boiling-eggs-in-a-pan tap.
Snowdrops melting into the earth.
The thread of tune from a wren
when I pass him between wooden pillars.
A robin warning the rest, ablaze
with his red armour. Streams of light,
lake flicker on fallen winter limbs.
Bluebells peek out green tongues
before exploding into a purple ecstasy.
Bees fly as if along a coastline
searching for a place to sit and eat.
Spring is here, as I sit in the middle
of the wind. I open my palms
and welcome her home.
By Gareth Culshaw
Gareth lives in North Wales. He loves the outdoors especially Snowdonia. He is published in various magazines across the U.K. Visit his website here.