Sown in Fall, wheat wakes late in Winter,
Growing with the warming sun
Into the Spring and Summer for this dot on the planet,
And maturing slowly, gracefully, late in Summer.
Earth inexorably tilts toward the sun,
Moving closer daily by small degrees, in its annual orbit
Around the source of nuclear fire that produces
All the power of Earth’s growing things.
Noticing:
Raptors circling overhead, songbirds with their throaty songs And a woodpecker hammering on my old tree,
Spring peepers that sing into the dusk and the dawn,
While slumbering trees and flowers swell with new buds.
Daffodils and tulips pierce the crust of soil.
Look closely.
Be filled with the grace of presence
As the life blood of growing things
Flows into new life yet again.
All is not lost.
The intoxication of an unmistakable Spring smell arrives again with hope,
Earthy.
A cardinal posed as a sentinel yesterday
On the bare branch of a Winter-denuded tree
To certify that I am not a threat.
I am not.
This, while snow geese sounded the alarm
As my terrier and I approach across the wide field,
Taking to the sky by the dozens,
Filling the air with the sound of wings lifting,
And a chipmunk skittered across the garden,
Widely aware that she is not alone.
I am awake.
- C. Scribner © 2/27/20
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