Whispering Earth

Winter melts.
In breezes Spring, the unfurler, the light of wing.
Wind comes cold without bite: a soother of fevers, a sweeper of fears.
Warmth comes, in beams of sun.
What is it that you want, the earth whispers: I can grow it.

Up in the field the old barn is breaking.
‘Entropy.’ I point: Dog has an air of trying not to laugh in my face.
(What is it that she knows?)

At home mess has vigorous regrowth. Today it signifies creative abundance.
Crumbs of bread because our soup was delicious.
Mud prints over the kitchen floor because the garden begins its bloom.
Drain still blocked and this matters not: if anything, how the water spills, the foam from washed clothes, the icky slick of dish water, it is lively, jaunty even, over the messed up gravel.

Washing whips on the line till we pull it in out of the hail.
The sun comes back, beaming warm.


Dixie@dcrelief said…
I smelled Spring for the first time today... we can hope.
Lisa Southard said…
Bet it smelt nicer than our drain! Although that is fixed now :-)

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