Vernal Implications
Golden sunrise. Brilliant half moon dawdles in the morning sky. Luxurious scent of pink jasmine blooming over the fence. Nervous spring energy. Birds singing. Bumble bees visit during the heat of the day. Hummingbirds chat with us through the open window at bedtime. A first poppy bud, yet to unfurl, waits for the perfect moment.
Weeding makes a green imprint on my mind. When I tuck in for sleep, memories of root, stem, leaves, and flower flash over my fingertips, flicker in my mind’s eye in hues of emerald, ochre, white, pink, and black. The plants I lovingly touched are all imprinted there too, along with their pungent, fresh, herbaceous aromas. The sleep is heavy and deep. It comes quickly, early. Morning finds me bewildered.
It’s darker than I’m accustomed to until it is suddenly luminous and filled with sun and moon and birds all at once. Morning doves coo. The scrub jay complains of the calico cat in the yard. A crow laughs at everything. I recall discovering an owl pellet on the garden wall while weeding. The limbs of all the trees framing the moon are green again.
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