Empty page, budding trees, singing birds, brand new start
yet familiar yearnings in my heart
the pain of connecting, then by fate forced apart
and I wonder what you’re thinking, what you’re doing, where you are.
My muse visited me this morning, in the guise of a Mockingbird spreading his wings and peering up at me on my porch as I was doing my sun salutations, as if to say â€œwinter is nearly over, and Iâ€™m ready to fly â€“ how about you?â€ A chill in the air still and patches of ice on the ground, but Spring bubbling underneath as a whispered promise. First Robin also, as a harbinger and scavenger, investigating under the Blue Spruce for bits of food. Scurrying and then stopping as if to catch the last words of something that was just said by a soul only they can see; a presence only they can feel. Iâ€™m dumb to it mostly, but every now and then, in a fleeting glimmer of a sparkling gem, I catch it. And I am able to share that moment with the bird, for perhaps a second or a millisecond, before Iâ€™m shut out again and left to admire from afar, with a sense of wonderment and awe.share this: