The Thawing Stream

Most beautiful the horizon clouded 

The wind across the field blows them forth; 

To make with grey the known world shrouded 

A blanket of light shadow from the North. 

 

Were I a child would I wait for snow, 

As wind picks up and shakes the unclad trees 

Then cold would come and in my face would blow 

Only then would I miss the summer breeze. 

 

Imagine now a frozen-over stream, 

A hardened artery of inert bends 

Come thaw! and the merciful sun’s beam: 

The fish to swim; the stream to flow again. 

 

We cannot appreciate these moments 

Until we are grown or have paved the streams 

That were home to our own delight and hints 

That we can return from any extremes.