Connection

The Maker’s Mark

Singed and tattered
Void of life
Just brown husks
of what used to be.

Do I let them stand there
Like marked gravestones?
Do I pull them out
Roots so deep?

I gave them time to bounce back.
Now spring has sprung
And the tattered and torn are not
Returning back to glory.

The maker’s mark on what has been
But is never more.

Connection

SPRING

A new beginning,
A return to life,
To the cycle of the season of spring.

There is change in the air:
The stillness, the silence.
The cold and dark longing of winter
Has turned the page
Like a new calendar
Or blank sheet of paper.

The momentum of change,
Of growth, has begun.

The wind reminds me that
There is power beyond my control.
It can be warm and gentle, or biting cold.

Spring is the ultimate awakening.
Spring is transition manifest.

I awaken from my slumber
Like the songbird or blue jay’s shriek
A sudden shift or a quiet moment into being,
To stretch and embody
All that was meant to be.

Spring is the entryway to fullness,
To the temple of my heart.
The darkest longing now bright and bold.
A word deeply written on the page.
A forest of chicken scratch
Where the blank earth once stood bare.
Connection

The Spring Crocus

The wild darling on the cusp of spring
The crocus has found its way to the surface
Having traveled over and over
In the same track as its predecessors.

The cold earth has found a softness,
An opening.
And the lush green breathes into me.
The fragileness of new life.

The sun breathes out energy.
The seedlings desperately alchemize
And rapidly transforms.

Their ripe green petals mimicking grass
Kiss and pepper the earth.
I marvel at the emerald blades
That try to camouflage into the lawn.

They are hardy and make the perennial trip.
They wake me from my winter slumber
And remind me, even in the bitter harshness
of cold and darkness,
This too shall pass.

And my heart leaps to join the beauty,
To wear green and lie in the grass
Warm to the touch from the golden sun.

I touch the delicate petals
And thank them for this yearly gentle reminder.
A smile forms on my face.

The mourning doves have returned this year.
I wonder if the young couple will find 
a more hardier, sturdier nesting place.

Nature is the greatest teacher.