—Katy Brown, Davis
If you chase winter far enough up the mountain,
running from the valley heat,
you will come upon a glade where spring
still lingers in bottle-green shade.
Dogwood dropped the last brown petals
weeks ago down in the valley.
Here, shy spring still hides
behind a fan of leaves.
Soon enough, winter snow
will melt in alpine country, drawing heat
to high mountain peaks;
and all of pastel spring will be a memory.
Today, flowers cling to branches,
tossing in a breeze that tumbles
dust and daydreams,
caught between the turn of seasons.
a flit of movement across the drive―
and in the deep green cypress,
a tiny bird with firecracker-orange head
song still pouring across the morning,
so much sound from such a tiny throat. . . .