snowmelt

over by the stone wall,

where the woods and the meadow meet,

there is a rushing of water,

running down from the ridge above.

icy cold,

clear as glass,

boisterous and tumbling,

it sings as it falls.

this renewal of the earth...

 i am trying so hard to listen.

to the hope

and the determination that

these vernal streams are singing.

but if truth be told,

my spirit has an unsettled

and dark corner

where fear has set up housekeeping.

i do not usually allow him much space--

mr. fear.

but there he is,

fueled by egos and evil i cannot control.



i'll call him out of the dark corner
and i'll deal with him.
but right now we are just eying one another,
mr. fear and i.