My ears strain for the still, quiet voice,
Casting out in the afternoon air,
searching for that cadence
of syllables and signs.
It’s there, just within reach,
whispering the rules and wonders
of green understanding and vernal knowledge.
I listen to the southern breeze,
feeling the earth’s slight turning
against the wind.
My toes seeking the gravity
of the graveled walk-
trees moving with me
as I wander the labyrinth path-
for the sacred language of spring.