Thick the green comes in 
like fog
rolling dawn after dawn
every day a deeper shade until
the woods drip with plenty
breathe in the glory for now
just now
how many of our breaths are scented with spring?
a willing branch
catches a pink cloud
until, in the breeze
letting go
Wow!
This was really lovely, Laura. I had no idea you wrote poetry. I really enjoyed your imagery and the sense of movement.
Thanks for sharing.
Thanks Jamie! Too bad the formatting got messed up in many people’s versions of the post. It turns out to matter more with poetry than with prose…