Spring

i remember when spring lasted all year.
finches hiding gold beneath their ruffled feathers
would start fighting for the best perch
at six in the morning in january
and the garter snake
that lived under the rocks in the front garden
would still be waiting for them
in december.

this year, spring lasted just under eight minutes.
i stood and watched
as dry branches turned into chinese snowballs,
then melted into puddles of mud
and in the time it takes to remember what happened,
the mud will have rolled over into a tortoise,
and dragged itself under a thick,
white blanket.

how is it that we accelerate so rapidly
toward our final moments?
what was it about childhood that stretched
every second into the look you gave me
when i told you that i loved you
for the first time?
where is that kind of awareness now?