Fingers deep in waking earth
clearing ferns from wintry somnolence
Their feathered, spiked, serrate fronds
release spores in ochre clouds
Raindrops drum my hat brim
enthusiastic paradiddles of spring
Hands set blade to swordleaf
trimming old stems and rusted detritus
From the center I lift accreted duff
revealing curls, verdant and sleepy
Nestled in that fiddlehead crown
is the confidence of rebirth
Hope is spring’s eternal gift
a promise of life
and all it contains