the point

a pensive preface to Spring
is the dawn of this March allowing
Winter to clutch solemn and sedate
bare branches, ashen brown
arch overhead like witch broom bristles
knarled protectors of the icy trail

berries dot boughs, a gentle reminder
of the ego resting dormant under
icicles and snow drifts
this forest, an insulated sanctuary,
shelters its regenerative core
through desolate months of polar ocean wind

the sea, ruminating and dark,
is a different woman in winter
contemplative and cruely cold
turbid tides antagonize and
sea boulders flecked like robin's eggs
are pounded smooth as skipping stones

algae mats flop murky green
on rocks like riotous ribbon strands
strewn anxious and apprehensive
here, at the ocean's edge, conflict reigns
organisms are obliged to split compulsions
dual natures pull at fragile seams

this point where ocean meets the woods
in March is seemingly pummeled and bereft
the impoverished grasses and snap-shackle timber
perservere with fidelity to their essential ethic
and, as it always does, Spring will arrive in it's own time
to releive their burdens and cultivate their growth