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Underfoot, the leaves crunch and crack
—like the bread at my sister’s house
Flour on her blouse
Child at her feet
Counter all neat
With bakery things and Irish butter
But now, the timer!
She whisks away the sourdough
And lo
It crackles like the leaves
Of my trees
In these woods
anthony forrest
Walking upon trail, I stop in the heart of the trees
Snowy-white new-growth
of plum blossom peddles
—a fragrance I love—is carried to me on a breeze
How could I say these woods are silent?
For all around me I hear of creatures
And branches
Busy in noise-making
Though they try—in vain—to hide it
I linger here
as Frost would say, with distance more, and promises too
But stop, I must,
and breathe in these woods
For in the stopping I am renewed
anthony forrest
Pine boughs awaken from their timeless frozen sleep
While the decaying remains of dirty snow melt from a heap
Singing bids that bounce and flutter
Talk of Spring and how the Earth begins to muster
All her strength to change her gown of Winter
She dresses now in something less bitter
In trappings of sunshine—a Springtime gem
And the warmth of a new season begins again
anthony forrest
Heavy hung branches tremble and shake
Thawing sunshine beams down to awaken
The trees from icy sleep
The old shed’s corner drips and drips
Newborn warmth builds as winter’s grip slips
Away and away
Unremembered songs of birds returned
From Southern concerns
And stays
Door soon closes to waiting, waiting
Cold days over now—ready for Spring
To begin
anthony forrest
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