Prima Vera

magnolia blooms
A photo from last March; blossoms on the magnolias of Brooklyn

Here’s something that I apparently saved as a draft last spring. I found it a week or so ago, and I don’t think I’ll spend any more time on it, but as it was just recently Imbolc, and we had a 60º day Wednesday (despite the blizzard since) I thought I’d post it as a welcome to nascent Spring.

Rain replenishes groundwater,
refills the well
for creation after a fallow.

When looking results in seeing
and metaphor puts pretense aside—
you can pull focus,
delineate the shapes of things.

Eventually, the miles catch up with you;
in some way you needed them to.
Some things realign and make a sense that’s
recognizable.
Sleep refreshes; the coffee works; neurons fire.
The sun; the rain—
it could be molecular, or down to a change
in the weather.

So long as the waltz repeats.

The mythical rituals in Autumn, in Winter— for Spring,
for Summer. Everything is rooted
in something ancient.
Repetitions are inherent, genetic.

With or without a destination,
walking is never wasted—
You always arrive
somewhere.

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