Spring so chilly evoking memories of golden dawn throwing handfuls of cracked corn to all that gathered. Dampened socks, walking through grass that beckoned the arrival of tractor’s blade. How sharp the light as it lit up the forest bringing smiles to the fatless birds? With measured and oft unexpected precision it reminds everything that life has always been in charge. Into each day carrying the imprint of God’s DNA we find ourselves ne’er forgotten.

What calamity has this mind anticipated or conjured for reasons of excuse or whining. For all even the steep ascent are sponsors of our improvement. Beside myself walking with my morning shadow never thinking to ask him what he thought. For truth be told to make this day perfection. I never really wondered about those things beyond my reasoning, knowing somehow that the burden was not my own. A happy life of simple pleasures caused dimple for furrow forever, leaving behind the valley of my joyous grin.

August interrogative concerning productivity and harvest best left for September noon found their way to mind’s eye. As bud bid bird the word I heard caused faith to flourish as the seed found sun and sky. No mourning for days written. Songs sung few and new by mouths opened and shaped to bring trumpets and clarion call to corners and crevice. Dancing for no other reason than I am able. To table bring the fruits of labors and miracle unfinished, waiting for time to find its seat among the plenty. In mystery I found great threat to purpose.

Are you the hopeful champion of incandescent transparency? What shape your hands mimic as the walls of cave back away? Dervish damsels twirled in the feather light sound of days procession. Thickened air struggles to bring pollen from to tree to land and ground to air. Bees, unconscious of their buzzing match flight to the cackle and crackle of powers unseen. A soldier saunters toward the smell of honey, delighted by the opportunity to fight for something delightful. In the branch the tree dreamed of red, ripened fruit upon each vine.

In Spirit we forgot all envy. For when the world is your cupcake no thought of loss or scarcity enters the scintillating taste upon buds ready. Piercing the day the crow squawked, the hen clucked, and the scarecrow just stood watching. With petulant gaze the pony thought them paupers. Upon the roof so slippering and steep the cat laughed at sheep and dog running toward fed meadow. As I catalogued it all to form my dreams it seems everything was as it should have been. Into the waiting manuscript I walked with confidence and a smidgen of recall.