The world waits. The sun shines. The air is a pair of arms, open, sweeping wide in a welcome embrace. Each house has its own shining curtain of water, a private rainstorm. A December world is slowly melting away into April's bubbling laughter. Water, frozen just seconds before, bounds down ditches and off roofs. Widening black earth. Green shoots uncurling into the warming air.
The becoming widens.
One knows how important this is. All can feel it. The air is welcoming. Swelling . Homecoming.
Of a Joy eternal, sighs the wind. Spring is here. The air so clear, the time of waiting while summer draws near. Ever beautiful.
Little things are born. Little things stir in the hearts of people, things frozen by a wind that blows not just from the north. Of love and happiness, mirth and goodwill. What a One we have to look to. Who could create such perfection?
I come back to earth. The ground is muddy, the snow a mixture of what looks like slushy tar and coffee grounds, the buds hanging on to the trees for dear life. Water is everywhere. Creeping into basements, roaring through ditches. Everything is about as wet as the inside of a water balloon.
Do we care? Nope.
Love the way you write! Bet you're glad you're not at the old house with the chance of the basement getting flooded!
ReplyDelete