The voice of spring.
Thunder time, spring
It's been missing for a
few sweet seasons now.
The crack pop dash
the smell of new lightening ash.
Red umbrella tulips and
pitter / patter
trekking through the rainy delight -
Morning in May, a tiny relief
Our dear mother earth, cool off.
"I pray to god you children get it" she
exclaims and with that
there comes a heavy rain.
Still cars roll by their
tires scraping off the evergreen and
rosemary scented billow.
The cows grow twice in time,
next in line.
The sterile expansion, the
smell of trading gasoline.
Animal crackers, red rover,
springtime packaged to your
liking - please bring rover home.
"Within it all you must find stillness"
she explains -
I smile and she sometimes smiles back
when she can find the strength.
Even in dessert sand there sits a child who knows silence.
soil, dirt, mud,
the thickened earth worm and
Those that have been missing for years.
Thunderstorms rolling in and testing
the rapid movement of air, cloud and sky.
the natural world's boom -
making sound once again.
can only reunite with trust.
Because for every tire,
for every burning leaf an
oak still stands proud in remembrance.
Baby pines planted are just starting out their
life under the pink spotted moon,
breathing in and exhaling
a sigh of relief.
In the morning rain I
recall the beauty of our great mother.
I try to get close to her heartbeat,
to recall my own -
when she says,
"It's not too late - there is still time left.
Listen to one another, listen to my
deep hardy voice, listen."
-- Erica Mazzeo