Light moves and dims toward the evening sky.
In the gloom the grey turkey struts imperiously by,
Its small head startled by the ponderousness of its own weight,
Its path lit by the pink stars of the magnolia.

Aspens flirt their new leaves like fresh dresses.
And neighbor's newly planted dogwood echoes Van Gogh's
Slashing of white clouds across the canvass.
It's springtime in Afton and the earth's stirring.

A pileated woodpecker, its head bleeding crimson,
Wields his pick as he chips the white wood off the core.
Chickadees flit cheekily among the firs,
Practicing their aerobics on the bird feeder.

Wary white tailed deer halt their stilted walk,
Ears twitching like antennae listening for threat,
Eyes bulging ready for flight from the lush new grass
For calves are on the way in a brave new world.

Houses stand monuments to permanence
Their windowed eyes dark to time itself,
Their fences stopping at their boundary's edge
As chainsaws keep the trees in check.

Flags are flying. Renovations renew the old.
Mysteries are performed behind closed doors.
Letters, papers, catalogues are delivered
As the earth waits patiently for when to turn.

Rest gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Rest gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.