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Spring Equinox
by Vivien Steels

With soughing wind
and sighing clouds,
bowing trees
and sheeting rain –
March strides into iron skies
and spring is nearly green again.

Smoking clouds signal rain.
The yew tree spreads
its lower branches
over the lissom lawn
like trailing tails
of a vanity of peacocks –
a fanfare for April.
Our pear tree
(eighty years old)
bark wrinkled as skin,
sifts silken blossoms
onto the oncoming storm.

Sun’s lamp spotlights
an avenue of limes,
as green advances in layers,
buds screwed up like crepe paper
stuck to branches ready to burst.

A city of clouds upheld
by an Atlas of setting sun
blazes hot-orange,
but summer’s eyes
are not yet open.
The down of owls
pillows the darkling sky,
as a full moon stares me
straight in the face,
preparing me for
a season of change.

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