Except for the edges of the shaded north slopes
and the deep woods in the hollows, the snow is gone.
In its place, a mat of soggy leaves covers the ground.
But more is happening here than meets the eye.
Stand still and you can feel it breathing.
This is the last of winter’s great inhalation, the pulling
back of its bow. And behind the rain and beneath
the mists, miracles are beginning to leap
from the ground, astounding us.