Spring Illusions

Leaves bound around my feet as I trail in the falling snow.
They skirt across my path, darting by me playfully,
as if under careful instruction from the dormant squirrel or an off-duty robin.

Huddled sparrows adorn each branch,
their wings – shivering leaves, keeping the tree company.
Their eyes – as numerous as stars,
follow me down the path, making sure I don’t break
Her illusion, Her polar mirage, Her dormant play.
A failed re-enactment that is in itself beautiful.

Wear your disguise a little longer, I think before retreating to the fire.
Quite soon you won’t have to pretend.

Harry Bright, A Flock Of Sparrows And A Robin Perched On A Holy Branch

Harry Bright, A Flock Of Sparrows And A Robin Perched On A Holy Branch

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