This spring is so beautiful. We have torn up the back yard and planted grass seed, trimmed bushes, taken down fences, planted more roses and the grass is lush and green. In all these years here I haven’t had a rolling swath of green that extends to the far boundaries of the property. Beyond is a woods and we are visited by raccoons, foxes, wild turkey, hawks, rabbits: this is an urban area, three miles from downtown Atlanta, but the wildlife hasn’t gotten the memo. The trees are heavy with peaches, apples and pears, though the beans didn’t come up in the garden. The tomatoes are running amuck and the black berries and blue berries are busting their boundaries. Even the grapes, usually dormant, have heavy chandeliers of pale green fruit under the leaves.
I go out with my tea in the morning and the birdsong is amazing. The day may get complicated, but the morning is calm, peaceful and turns my thoughts to a gratitude for these simple blessings.
A wedge of sullen moon
As life awakes beneath.
Birdsong threads through
Trees, a staccato cacophony
Anointing the air
Like colored ribbons
Weaving back and forth
The timbre ever changing.
Green spring trees, tender, tender
An early nursery of life
Can anything be wrong with the world?
The hammock swings gently of its own accord
Perhaps a haunt, a ghost invisible.
Faint gunshots far in the distance last night
Where some would
Impose their vile humanity
Startling for a moment
Until sleep reclaims.
So it goes, this is the city.
The hoot of a sleepy owl in the morning
Echoes the cry of a distant train
While seed pods from maple trees
Flutter to the ground.
We have survived the dark,
It’s blackened mysteries,
Alien things that rattle us.
We are cradled in Nature’s promise
Of life beginning again each morning
While the moon above yawns, fades and disappears.