It starts small, like the tinkle of the cat’s collar.
It trembles as the flipped blinds show a row of light.
It rises with the stack of iced snow on the bird bath.
It trickles with water falling from the aquarium filter.
It gurgles with this morning’s coffee pot promise.
It flits with house finches waiting turns at the feeder.
It hugs me like my white cotton socks hug my ankles.
It spreads with the scent of rosemary as I water her.
It wiggles with twigs on the apple tree in the breeze.
It bobs and prances along with my neighbor walking
by with her dog.
It springs with a hundred things, pulsing with the sun:
my spirits, there with the sun on the snow, twirling
with quivering certainty. This death is done.
Wonderful! 🙂
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Many thanks 🙂
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Enjoyed this so much, Lisa! Love this line: “It trembles as the flipped blinds show a row of light.” This very relatable imagery adds a powerful sense of expectancy. And then the flow of mellifluous verbs just rushes you forward into . . . an awakening.
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Dora, thank you! It’s nothing that can be forced, but when it happens, I bask in its arrival.
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Lovely reading for a Sunny winter afternoon!
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Thank you 🙂
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Perfect song to go with it Lisa.
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Thank you 🙂
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All those little things that make life worthwhile. We should stop and bask in them more often. (K)
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Indeed, K, thanks.
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