The shortest night
eases into the longest day;
the light can barely contain itself,
and the land heaves a sigh
of something quite pent up—
the interior landscape
exhales heat and humidity.
The birds take to song early,
take to flight soon after,
until the beating of wings
awakens the whole world
with inescapable rhythms.
Every stone, every branch,
even the driest blade of grass,
all awaken, as if from a long sleep,
and a longer dreaming.
Waves of warmth rise
in circular patterns off the ground,
as do the pollinators,
flitting from blossom to blossom,
as if self-aware of greater liberties
to propel themselves upward,
despite the heavy weight
of their cargos.
Everything rises on tiptoe,
as if weightless,
expectant,
waiting
for the next coming,
Next,
only round the corner, now,
is all poised to bloom
and bear fruit,
for, verily,
Life is the only choice
on this event horizon.
© 2022 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen and songsofasouljourney.blogspot.com
