The elm and hackberry branches are thick with brown buds today, only the willow presents her green bonnet. The earth begins to glow. The air fuses river mud with winterberry bramble. Wind and rain both present with power and new life
The Worm Moon is new tonight and the land trembles with their incessant turmoil. They are the center of the cycle, the force behind death, the feast of the mistress of Spring
The path between night and day widens, the deep yawn of time, the meter of the song of the insistent, the cadence of the story of time’s indifference
On my skin I feel the breath of beings that rise in darkness, who hold reign over us just as we break free, who mark their time at our expense
Who are watching intently as the dust rises up from our passing, settling on the sunflowers that will someday line the road to our new and glorious home
Spring