ain washes down over the mother 

in the early morning, 

soaking and reviving 

her restless soul, reawakening 

from winter’s deep slumber.

From her frost-cracked skin

now grows new life—

taking root deep within her soil.

 

She is the Lady Primavera 

who reigns over her great expanse,

whose winds feed the strong earth,

who resounds the call to awaken

the sonorous sounds of new life.

 

She is a divine manifestation of the wilderness—  

she dresses in the colors of life,

the hair on her head, a long floral crown.

She is young, she is old— 

she beams in the sunlight

& glows in the moonlight.

 

She is not all but beauty, 

for she gives & she takes.

With new life comes new disaster,

a wild, burning beauty,

organic & natural.

 

Growing green are her fields & valleys 

where she rests in golden meadows,

where all colors of creation flourish

& long shadows are cast by the evening sun.

I was thinking about here

while watching another moment close in

and depart—

In this instant of repose there is togetherness,

surrendering to what is,

and the stillness.

Enduring branches descend to the tired Earth,

a veil of leaves dividing.

We remain inviolable,

as if delivered from our assailants.

Because we are here,

here means incomparable wholeness.

 

Wind tousling hair & feet running fast—

Each foot, muddy & bare,

immersed in the soft earth.

She runs on till dusk— 

the light extends into night

until it returns the next morn.

 

She is new, she is young—

the day is fresh.

The smell of dirt lingers heavy

in the garden where she grows

& buries her seeds.

 

To each she says,

"Seedling,

take up the heaven’s waters and thrive.

Burst forth and unfurl each velvet petal.

Let the rain sift further down to your roots,

& let the sun dry you out.

Bask in the glowing moon while you slumber— 

for a new day awaits us."