In 2013, a friend gave me the metaphor of spring as a mighty sword pushing winter over the horizon.
I pictured that horizon —
It’s edge tinged with winter’s recess —
As I let the single stem rise from the paper.
It seems to whisper:
“There is a bigger picture and —
There is no bigger picture.
We are here and —
We are there.
Life is fleeting and —
Life is enduring.”