In this spring season it is rare 
to see upon the budding ground 
snow, what winter forgot to give
and just now thought to bring.

Bended branches, unbroken,
slowly lose the weight of snow.
They rise, shake themselves off,
wonder about all the fuss.

Broken branches litter the yard,
lie in the street, crumble in the drive.
They have done their giving part -
birthed sweet leaves of green.

In any season we may be broken
by the coming of unexpected snow.
Yet we have given birth to sweetness
that in all seasons never dies.
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Portland, Oregon - April 11, 2022

Written following the first recorded snowfall in April, in Portland. It also seems fitting for this Holy Week when some consider the meaning of death and resurrection.