We have been led to believe in our artificial thinking that the rosebush dies in the winter,
Yet I wake at sunrise to hear the singing of the birds.
Upon opening my eyes I am witness to their dance and play Atop those dry, thorny branches.
This gives me hope
Which I will welcome into my heart
At every opportunity,
Again and again.
Oh yes
The birds are returning.
No song left unsung;
In
The volume of their song
No hesitation.
Bright breasts puffed.
Not a post, wire or branch
Off limits to poise upon and strike chord.
Calling to those who will listen as sun touches
The land.
Replies fill the air with hope,
Nature does hearken unwavering.
Standing in the center
Of my self created maze;
I would think I might know the way out.
But i am completely at a loss as to which way to go.
I could have sworn i had left bread crumbs, little mental notes along the way.
Seems
They have been swept up and away
By the birds.
The noise of traffic drowns out the sound
Of birds singing at my windowsill.
The silent strength of the trees remains rooted
Nonetheless.
The birds call to me once more.
“See child there is life all around you.
Why then do you cry in loneliness?”
I reopened the gate
And went out into
The
Great
Wilderness.
There I returned to the
Life
I new
As a child
And became
The
Peace
I have always carried.
For the birds welcomed me.
The wind embraced me.
The trees received me with a timeless remembering.
The dirt infused my senses with vivification.
The sky opened up in my heart
And the sun became a friend to my soul again.
I recalled this is where I belong.
There,
In
The
Great
Wilderness,
I did live
Once
More.
Chole Into Diamonds 