We find on paths once dry and parched,
Now soaked; the skies have opened up
And pooled in leaves like a tiny cup,
Soft sponges ‘neath the rain of trees
That drip long after a passing breeze
Has chased the clouds on over.
Drip, drip, drip….
I find some mud and know there’s room
For a plant and soon, upcoming blooms
That call to butterflies, bees, and birds
And all who pass, with nary a word,
But the breath of fragrance and sweet remembrance
That makes one stop in quiet transcendence
And kneel in a bed of clover.
I lean to take a sip….
The Vernal Equinox ‘proaches near,
The Earth turns ’round its imperfect sphere,
When day equals night, but perhaps not quite,
And the world reawakens in the lengthening light,
Drinking the sun, basking in rain,
Bending in line with the weather vane,
While the wind returns for an encore,
And through the night it hurls….
If we but listen, we’d hear them say,
The chickadees, sparrows, and the passing jay,
The towhees and thrushes, picking seeds in the rushes,
And the trumpeter swans taking flight in flushes
Of wings in the wind, and catching a gust,
Away in a flurry of feathers and dust,
Spring arrives in such an uproar!
And up and up it whirls!
I look down at the soil beneath my feet;
The path is hardened by snow and sleet,
And up overhead and on all sides,
I see I’m surrounded by garden guides:
An opening leaf, the tip of a bud,
And the sap that runs as warm as the blood
Of life in a melting river,
Hurrying out to sea….
I remember once this barren field
Overgrown with thistle, of little yield,
And bit by bit I planted trees
And shrubs and berries, herbs for bees,
And laid down leaves to build the ground
To nurture and to hear the sound
Of the heart of the Spirit Giver
And the rhythm of growing free…
And then stood aback to watch unfold
What might reappear after winter’s cold,
And I stored the rain inside the ground
Where in the heat of summer it’d again be found,
And the more I planted, the more that grew;
The insects, spiders, and snakes all drew
To feast on my indulgence
In a haven full of food.
And the birds! My God! They’re everywhere!
They said they’d come if I’d but share,
And though imperfect, it’s still just right
This garden in the March delight
Of Spring! Once empty, now so full,
In timing with the season’s pull,
This miracle of abundance.
I’m in awe with gratitude.