March 07, 2016
Plus five degrees Celsius, snow melting, little rivers running under the soft snowbanks, into the gutters and drains. We have spring, early, at least for a while. Listening for the geese now, flying north, making their usual stop at the river.
Vee of geese honking to the west, a young straggler calling wait! wait! Crows squabbling on the boulevard, from the bare trees, whose lover is whose. Snow half-eaten by the sun. How dare it be so early, spring?
So equinoxes mean anything here? Tipping of light for the birds going north or south. They move along the rivers, the moon. Currents in the land.
Now there is the garden bunny, colour of earth, colour of last year's leaves. Colour of old wood. colour of dry grass, of tree bark. Of wintered cabbage stalks. Of paving stones. Hunting for a place to hide a baby, come the new green leaves.
There is no land more sacred than the land you stand on.
Katherine Bitney is the author of four critically acclaimed poetry collections and the non-fiction environmental mediation The Boreal Dragon: Encounters with a Northern Land. She lives in Manitoba.