In the whispers of the wind, the old tree knows.
The changing of the light shows promise.
With March barely here, spring is soon to appear.
The streams filled with melting snow.
Rushing with life to the forest floor.
Tucked in the winter debris,
bright colors of a crocus catch the eye.
Yes, spring is near.
Such promise, such hope, such celebration of life’s renewal.
Like the rings in its core.
The old tree knows.
Emily Carter Mitchell 2016