Today
smells like spring
the rain
is warmer
the breeze
gentler
The
thick cloud cover
feels
insulating, protective,
not threatening
Leaves
are unfurling
still
tiny
still
the bright, new green
of young
foliage
Grasses
are greening,
springing
up fresh with the rain
Last
autumn’s dry bulbs
have
burst to life
covering
the hillsides
with blue
and white blooms
The
trees,
the
grasses,
the
wildflowers –
they
were dead and now they live.
How can
you say you don’t believe in miracles?
Once we were fresh
and
tender, young stems
filled
with eagerness and
chlorophyll
stretching,
reaching
toward
the sky
filled
with passion,
carpels
quivering, stamens straining
seed
pods full to bursting.
But now
petals drop,
leaves
droop,
stems
bend and bow.
Cell
walls are no longer turgid.
We wait
passively
for the Winds
of Chance
to blow
us down
or the Rabbit
of Fortune
to bite us
off at the ground
or the Crow
of Despair
to steal
our seeds
Our
green days
are all
behind us.
Now we
simply wait for
