ON A NICE DAY IN SPRING
On a nice day like today, I putter.
I've got reams of things to do. There
aren't enough words for me to say
it. Clean the floor and wash the walls?
Is that enough? I walk down to the
rocks to see what Winter has left: a
few new broken limbs and some dead
raccoon a'rotting. Dried out already;
I'll wait for the skull but after the old
flesh is gone. I haven't yet seen any
fish in the water, nor frogs jumping
away. The peepers are pretty much
gone at night now, and the silence is
something better than that. Each footfall
I take now is crushing something. All
this new growth seems now so impulsive
to grow. There's nothing I can do about
that, and I wouldn't even if I could.
-
My soul realizes things far before me.
I understand only later, how the lazy
buds unfold. How the bees will find
their pollen. And how little - really -
I know about what's going on.
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