Because the trees, bless them, are withholding their leaves,
the honeyed sun pours itself into the creek,
and all the minnows and tadpoles wiggle in its warmth.
By the time the leaves are grown, so will they be.
Still, along the banks, the brush is taking on green
and wild flowers peek through last year’s carpet.
The stream, fed by recent snow and rain, is full
and rushing, and the smooth rocks beneath it
feel its motion and hear its song. At last, it is springtime,
and here, in the creek’s world, every living thing
is glad.