White Swan (A Spring Poem)

Today gray clouds were scouring the sky
and mud rivulets coursed through the dried-up lakebed.
In the rain spring trees still believed in winter,
bare sticks pointing to the sky.

When they emptied the lake, brown mud stretched on forever
where water used to lap and ripple in the sun.
In the winter we used to slip across the lake
amid soft white snowdrifts that buried solid ice.

Today I saw green grass fuzzy along the mud banks
and through droplets on the window watched
a pure white swan fly in from the south
settling with a delicate flutter in the dirty water.

And despite that rumor that tomorrow snow comes
wet and heavy from the north, and me wondering
where that swan will go, and how it stays so white – 

Despite all that — to see a white swan
in the mud where the lake was
makes me believe in spring. 

-KWH, 1999  

Another one from the vaults — this was written my last spring in MN (from Bolio looking towards the lakes for any Carls out there).  Probably about this time of year….  Ah, I miss it!   

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