Pains of Spring

by Carolin Messier

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Just past the hairpin turn and over the bridge
a fawn looked up from its morning feed
of cast-off kitchen scraps and garden clippings
next to a house along the trail.
It met my gaze and held it,
each of us on the edge of our true habitat,
foraging for more than sustenance
foraging for nourishment
to nurture us through the growing pains
of the newness,
the muchness,
the freshness,
and delicacy of a spring
who’s blossoms bloomed too early
in a year of mild winter,
the threat of late frost whimpers still at twilight
only able to be hushed by the coming of summer.