What weather is washing through your world?
Is the rising angle of the sun inspiring you with hope?
Or is it shining too brightly on the gray comfort of your grief?
Or is it shining too brightly on the gray comfort of your grief?
Are spring pollens excitedly carrying forward and giving birth to your dreams?
Or are the bees and hummingbirds simply scattering your visions to pretty petals with no discernment and without a plan?
Or are the bees and hummingbirds simply scattering your visions to pretty petals with no discernment and without a plan?
Is the growing green filling your heart, infusing it with fullness and mindless and smiling joy?
Or does it invade and irritate you, penetrating the dull and dark closure of those four chambers in your chest, the ones you think you’d rather leave alone?
Or does it invade and irritate you, penetrating the dull and dark closure of those four chambers in your chest, the ones you think you’d rather leave alone?
Are the spring winds whipping you awake at dawn?
I feel these sacred whirls of chaos and change spinning me like a tornado, churning up winter’s quiet and sleep.
I thought I’d be resting forever, but my blood turned into a gusty and warm breeze waking the subtly slumbering spaces I still have inside.
Soon buds will emerge, maybe even from my limbs. I wonder, what will the garden look like this year?
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