- We walk along crumbling blacktop,
the afternoon sun stabs my rugby tee.
Three geese straddle center of Sunny Lake
let go of everything
as they walk on ice. In shadows,
snowy floe cools my breath.
Last Sunday, father and son slid the hill.
Today, brown paints this slope.
Birds know the first day of March,
they chatter about wind.
Winter news falls from sky
spreading tree to tree.
will turn luscious emerald.
My daughter’s pace quickens,
walking backward in front of me
I follow, her garnet cheeks
ablaze with sun.