the elf has risen from her downy sleep.
peeking around corners
she defines the shadows with her lively morning light.
with her magic she halts the wind, plays with it,
directs it to clinging autumn leaves that winter left behind,
watching them flitter thinly to the ground,
to prepare for the next generation.
her green fingers raise primrose posies to lift our spirits,
but sometimes she beats a cheeky retreat, hiding for a day or more,
tricking us with a thin, brindled imitation of winter.
disguised by a grey skies and a sheet of rain
she spies on emerging buds
as they quiver, in anticipation of her smiling face.
we wait, irritated by her disappearance,
but her shimmering return brings instant forgiveness,
as the trumpeting daffodils make way
for blooms of every cheerful shade and shape.
safe from winter’s killing chill,
fresh petals wriggle free of their unfurling siblings,
bursting from their wombs of baby green
they dance and sway in gratitude to the sun’s rays,
gratefully celebrating the birth of Spring.
©Jane Paterson Basil