You awake

from your long slumber

not rested, but certain

that you’d never even

been asleep.

And now, an impatient wind

teases the nostrils

of the promiscuous trees.

They huddle together,

sharing secrets.

The heartbeat of Spring,

resuscitated

from your sporadic rest,

jumps again to push

the filaments of breath

back into the sleeping army

of dirty, brown grass,

now blushing green.

Forward then, dear soul,

Wind of wind,

Scent of scent,

Heart of heart,

revive our favored memories

now colored with

the speech of stones,

the sky’s delight,

the lightning’s embrace,

the now and nocturnal –

awaiting to hear

the New of the new.

Picture: www.essenceinphotography.com