It is written
that we came from the soil
dust of some nature
shaped into the form of man
No wonder, then,
there’s something about soil, that draws us
farmers and gardeners who use their hands
to touch, ponder, the mysteries of soil
The seasons are a wonder too
stretching our imaginations
challenging our capacities
with heat, cold, wind, rain
Parching plants and people
in August heat, the sun
almost cooks us
then fall drowns us in color
as leaves shout their warnings of winter
Push the panic button
to store up food
to seal the doors and windows
against arctic blasts, snow and ice
Then, mixed with our exhaustion and depression,
buds begin to swell
robins appear again
pre dawn concerts alert and encourage us
that winter’s hold is slipping, and
in spite of a last flurry or two,
the grass is greening and spring is springing
In all these changes we have wind
and more wind
sometimes scourging in angry swirls
ripping trees and houses
slamming cars and trucks, smashing
and sometimes gently cooling us
Oh yes, the soil and seasons command us
“Be still”, spoken once to the winds and waves,
commanded Nature, but we
are left to study, discover, alter
tiny pieces to our pleasure
Each discovery finding more
another level, hidden til then,
but there, all the time.
Wise are we
to bow, to ask,
“May I have this dance?”
It was created, gifted to us,
for our use
We’ve learned so much
know so little
the dance has just begun
Lin Almost spring, 2014