Gazing up in sun salutation, With 'Canon in D' streaming Into this inner sanctuary, the Sun in its March morning salutation, through the window before me—releases— Drip, drip, drip, The rhythm of Pachelbel announcing, Beat by beat, Note by note. Yes!
Snow melt and moisture Earth opening to thaw. Soil teeming with worm and insect, Veins of connections in their hatchings. We will soon throw open windows, Invite in through the once shuttered door, And receive the breath of a new Season in her glory. Her resplendent self in The yellows, peaches, and pinks of Daffodils and Jonquils, Welcoming birth in all the furry and feathered ones.
It is all our spirits have longed for And our creative selves seek. The release of the lion and the promise Of the lamb, this month named for Mars, god of War, with our only wish being for peace. Too many have left us in this fight with Nature, her anger rising with our ignorance. Our lack of faith in the covenant to care And sustain her. The gift we were entrusted In our birth.
I know Father Sun you are just teasing me today. Flirting with my desires, but We are weary with The depths of death and decay. As they become a memory, We will do what, as humans, we must. We will rise to greet the dawn, The promise of a new day, a new season. A new moment. A new covenant.