I parked under a tree and came back to a car covered in sap.
Driving away I, irritated by the spots on my window, sprayed them down and wiped them off.
Later, streaks still spreading across my window, I again cleared it off.
It was then that I realized, in the dark of night,
with one headlight beaming ahead, that sap was on my car.
Sap.
The trees are awakening from their slumber.
Though they look dead, bare and fragile arms reaching to the sky,
snow encircling them, deep underneath the topsoil of this earth
there is life percolating.
Life is spreading through the veins of the trees.
Life is seeping out, clinging to what it touches.
Spring is coming.
There are no blossoms, they sing no song of warning,
But there is sap on my car.
Spring is coming.
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