Infinite Spring

Boundaries are merely a perception.

I rest on gnarled knee of ancient oak
and looking upward watch
his branches scratch the clouds-
an itch brought on by Spring perhaps as
green glowings tinge his boughs:
spring cleaning of skeletonized brown
still clinging to last autumn's show.

Nearby the wisps of willow
sweep the waters of the lake,
and an energetic nimbus squirrel
dusts his feathery tail along the stone fence
where violets peek from within crannies
at sunny daffodils.

I am surrounded by new life
springing into being,
as I wait, cell phone lying in my lap,
for winter to tighten his grasp upon
the great-grandmother
that even now lies dying in cold, sterile ICU.

No windows that open to admit the breezes
singing now of living, nor flowers allowed
to remind one of the freshening life outside.
No bird sound permeates the callous brick
nor could their song reconcile to machinate cacophony.

My cell reverberates.
Great-grandmother has escaped
the winter world
and flown into
infinite spring.