To Erin In Spring

This is a tentative time

These Spring times in the mountains
can be treacherous too

On the ground
one cold rain can strike Spring's whole hatch
and leave the ground Grouse-less for the year
the babies drenched in peeping infancy
and the mothers left inconsolate
mourning in the grass for days

In the trees bright males dance and chirr
with ardent flit and stiff drape of wings
as they strain to mask the one imperfection
that dooms their perfected strut and song
to no avail
leaving them unchosen

These are tentative times
each year
when Spring drags her cold skirts
of rain over the tumescent lavender hills
to leave them dampened
mortal cold

It is a time of rite
of timeless ceremony and choice
driven not by the heart but by the gland
to bower in the fragrant wood
to transfix the body on the ground
probe the universal wound
stare at the heaving purple skies

Not like the soft summer sure to follow
when dances tread the grass for fun
and trysts are innocent enough

Ah, but Spring
it is a driven and dangerous time