The early days of spring
have many silences –
unbound buds coloring
revealed flowers,
that muffle the wind’s
breezy advice for
fruitful summer days.
The spring speaks silently
so I must listen wisely to hear
hooves and paws pressing
into freshly moistened trails
am bemused as
the still air is parsed into
avian melodies and
earnest calls of courting.
I listen to the gentle complaint
of color seeking its place
among emerging greens,
and sky-blue canvas,
littered with puffy eyed clouds
I listen to tree’s silent stretch.
Limbs stiff from winter’ s sleep,
their arthritic limbs creak
and groan with budding chores.
I listen to the Earth’s yawns
as she lifts an ochre twigs tip
to her jaded green and blue lips
hushing her efforts to
quietly sweep winters trash
under her ivy bed and
into rooted nooks and crannies
I listen to the pattering rinse
of seashores and forest floors
as they are gently mopped with
raindrops tittering
with delighted cries
as they cleanly crash and splash
onto each leaf, blade, and petal
of Earth’s Easter bonnet.
I listen to springs sweet sonnet
silently recited for my eyes to hear.
As I breathe in her fragrant verse
with outstretched arms
fingers reaching to touch
her tranquil return.
a hushed grace.
A miracle of birth
A promise of redemption.
Again, I listen to the ruddy sun
whispering its warm welcome.
Gratefully my laugh
breaks the silence.
I chortle with the delight
of being alive, being in love
with the silent voice of spring
Ah! It’s good to be alive!
By J. Wayne Oldroyd
OLDROYD PHOTO PUBLISHING
| oldroydphotography.com |
