It happens

This is a sequel, of sorts, to Hyper-haiku.

Somehow, it happens.

The snow melts.

[First, of course, you feel it yield a little too readily

To the tip of your questing toe.]

You saw the great masses of white, towers, mountains.

You thought, “How can there even be this much water in the world?”

But it happens:

Gleaming white quiet world, gone to brown ugly mush.

Later, when you are not looking:

With an unhappy sigh, it surrenders its solid form entirely.

A torrent, everywhere, messy and cold,

Breaking and nourishing the somnolent earth.

Then, somehow, invisible again.

You can almost smell it all,

The violence of spring’s accession

On that first day that the sun feels real again.

The snow melts.

It happens.