And you know this
feeling well. A week ago, the back stage was bare naked,
Everything could be
seen through the spindly tree branches - cold reality in harsh light.
There might have
been snow, it was certainly wet and chill,
Definitely nothing
much to look at.
But not anymore -
Now the play opens,
(you’d miss it if you didn’t already know what happens,)
First sunlight
lengthening, then warmer daytime highs, always some amount of rain,
The magic of a
tilting Earth works – crocus and grass shoots appear in the foot
lights, downstage,
And early bloomers
under spot lights - the pale cherry, yellow forsythia, white fluffy
pear.
All the blossoms
that had been hard-tight buds at all the branch ends
Are not anymore -
Now the stage
changes, (seen from your seat in the middle back row,)
It swells with
suspense, with a pregnant haze. Through opera glasses you can see
Yellow green
tendrils on willow hanging down, rust green clusters on maple like
baby spiders,
Powdery green
pollen, glossy green buds, fuzzy green orbs, and feathery green
leafkins,
All about to burst
like fireworks into the show’s monstrous scene of green,
But not yet -
Now, (on cue, like
you always do,) you wonder whether or not
You really remember
what it’s like to be the audience to Maryland in late March,
When the smother of
green leaves is about to engulf everything, and you wonder how soon
You will forget the
bare naked view of the back stage. Now,
This is the feeling you know. It
was Winter, and Summer is coming,
But
Not
Yet.
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