It’s a brilliant, coat-opening day,
early cool overcast pulled away
by wind as though snapping
sheets that draped blue sky.
I startle a bluebird on the ground
(ground is the best place
to sight a bluebird’s
blue-star fanburst).
A bristling two-inch plug of darkness
inches along the path.
Dear God, what is a woolly
bear caterpillar doing out
in northern Wisconsin
on the 27th of March?
Often I set them to the side
of traffic, but who will lift
any of us now from the road-
way of what’s approaching,
of our own making?
I am afraid that if we watch
them die and do nothing
a part of us will decide
to die too.
We die in any case,
but if we do nothing
sadder and sooner.
Thomas R. Smith
Illustration: Claire Palmer