Fresh air is
Life experienced --
In all its messiness and complexity
Not neatly, electronically,
Through a visual screen.
It is damp spring earth scooped
With bare hands
To receive new plantings,
Weeds tugged from the ground,
Mulch spread thick and pungent,
Into old beds made new,
It is the swoop and dive of swallows,
And half a dozen iridescent dragonflies
On gossamer wings,
Through the yard
It is feeders rife with finches,
Purple and gold,
And a pair of nesting cardinals,
So easily missed
Amid the more extraordinary --
An oriel perched on an orange rind
Swallowing sustenance for the
Miles yet to fly,
And Sandhill Cranes,
Whose ancient clacking calls
Still catch me by surprise,
Poster-bird of second chances,
Reborn from the brink of extinction.
Fresh air is
A sliver of sunlight
Piercing the clouds
Illuminating a cascade of
Snow white lilies
Cloaked in green,
Time to be still,
Time to smell the rain,
And notice the lilies,
To catch one perfect, round drop
Clinging to the speared tip of
A single blade of grass.
Time to scoop the earth
And stop to watch the swallows,
Listen for the cranes,
Time to breathe deeply
And experience the
Immensity of God
In every moment,
Time to be still
And simply know
That He is GOD.
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