Last Bones of Winter

188 CHRISTIANITY AND LITERATURE Last Bones ofWinter Where the snow drifted deepest I find the last ofit hiding beneath stone. Soon wood sorrel will blossom, white as the snow it replaces. What else does death mean except not here now? In the new warmth the plum tree fills its branches with pink bags, and near the seep skunk cabbage crawls from its grave. Somehow my father knew he would disappear before the last of the year. In this new time without him the pear tree's white wings beat, then fly, leaves unfolding the second week of May. The apple tree sends its flowers into the river even sooner, and I realize I don't ever want to not be here. I suppose that was true for my father as well. Every year there comes a night when the last bones of winter vanish, when temperatures stay above freezing and stone settles deeper in snow's absence. On such nights the flesh can't help but fail, falling away and collecting in the turning grass, only to become something else. TODD DAVIS ...