It was cold and dark, and all around a pure
white cloak covered all; while Nature fell
in a deep sleep.
Day by day, hour by hour, its form took shape,
and slowly, small shoots of growth
struggled up towards the light.

Slowly at first, then gathering speed, the
sap rose, and flowered. The white mantle
is banished in a blaze of new growth.
Sun, flying high in the sky, bathed all
in its purifying radiance.
We breathe deep and fill our ears with that
myriad of clicks and calls and buzzing
which is Life in all its Glory.

It is coming again.
Dark clouds spill their ink on the horizon.
Winds gather and Sun tries to hide.
All falls quiet before the storm,
no sound, and we all wait, still and pensive,
hoping for a fresh glow to fill our skies
once more.
No humming now, no calls, no clicks,
except; there, in the distance,
a rifle is ready.