The Advent of Spring

Like children at the playground, the temperature swings wildly up and down.

Yesterday, the drip from icicles promised spring.

Today the bite of a chill wind breaks the promise.

The meadow, once melting, is a sea of diamonds, the stunted crab apple bearded with hoarfrost.

Icy fingers reach down my neck. Hands jammed deep in pockets, hunched over, I feel runtish, like the tree.

I regret the inevitable loss of winter's simple white harmonies, while yearning for the colored chaos of spring.

spring sun —
the bitter sweet taste
of crab apple jelly

Ray Rasmussen
Haibun [a mix of prose and haiku]