The Threshold

Spring heat

thickens,

each day

the threshold reached,

up and over

the freezing mark,

and,

the sap begins to run.

 

Sweet steam

billows out,

from among

brown branched trees,

that hide

the sugar shacks,

where

exhausted elves,

gatherers of the

tree blood,

stoke the fires,

at last.

 

Everyone

can breath now.

 

The sap

is on,

to boil.

DSC_0150Photo: Leigh Pumilia

 

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