Hope Hiding

Before Spring is official, I find myself looking for signs of it: A single blade of green grass, a birdsong I've not heard all winter, anything to let me know it's coming soon. I poke among the old, dead growth hoping to see something. Do you?

I went out to see the hope today,
It was there, green and shy,
Beneath the snow-matted thatch,
Among the remnants of Winter's last stand.
I knelt and parted the rubble.

Those who have eyes for hope
Can see it hidden there,
Long before it comes,
Nourished by the decay
Of what was hoped in before.

The ice is gone, the creek is free.
At first it courses leisurely
But then it assaults its banks again and again
Carving and gouging, then quietly subsiding
Leaving behind the debris of late Fall.

I went searching for the hope today
That only Spring can give,
And I was not disappointed. Doma