This day –
so far away from last month’s
last chance at winter
in its fits of tightening
and releasing its grip.
Finally, I relax. I soak. I see.
I hear the life in vibration of each pleasing bee
and ant—buzzing, crawling
—climbing to the heights of sky and tree.
How do they know?
Is it by memory or deduction?
Or is it by pure imagination
conceived on the dreams of ancient ancestors
and last year’s hive?
The colony survives by these dreams
and written in rote,
not even known till green leaves to light
the way through season.
I see the spectrum of new leaves emerging,
At first pale and cheerful in this becoming – and lacy.
Seems almost tentative in their approach.
But even without memory they invade
with the full force of summer color.
Bright and bold, jade and olive
and always multiplying
to fill each tree and yard and forest
in logarithmic advance to their natural abundance.
There is no lack in life and love.
In each twig and bud and leaf is the belief in the Divine.
And not by deduction, but by doing
the deed of each instant and dancing
to the song of now.
I too imagine,
my becoming is new
in the true sense of Spring.
How could it be any different
than each step and each breath
advancing, proceeding from previous green?
I am an ant on a bud, and the world is mine.
Sweet nectar. And Blessings
of Light and Love.