Late Winter Song
In a forest along an open path,
in a winter flower bed,
I hear the faintest rustle
like raindrops. Though overhead
there are no clouds
nor collected dew falling
from a tree branch.
The air and the trees
are perfectly dry,
but I can still hear
soft movements under
the layer of oak leaves.
I notice the fresh
green leaves of spring bulbs
pushing their way through
the dirt and past the leaves.
I hold my breath.
The most perfect response
one should make upon
the realization they are hearing
young spring flowers growing,
moving, singing, praying for
sunlight and warmth.
Author: Joan Hagy
Photo: Kasia Derenda on Unsplash
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