By Marie-Louise Meyers

First you hear the wind rattling your window pane,

ratcheting and enlivening your bones,

your breathe hollowed out by the ravages of winter,

open to feel the turnover in the air, 

transformed when the breeze stirs you 

to a hurried appeal to sense 

the fertile changes in the earth.

It beckons and cajoles you, flirtatious it seems

enters your dreams until it grabs ahold of you, 

removing every vestige of burying you

in snow, ice and leftover leaves,

afraid spring will never arrive.

The contract you made to enter the garden gates

filled to the brim with a Dionysian strategy 

divined with natural impulses inspired by the sun invading the mind,

while the rain gives you fulfillment for your plants to generate.

Nature is a seamless intervention which gives us the impetus,

the right to feel ignited by the appeal,

to reap the countless blessings,

invading the pores of each fragile blossom 

promising even more in the space of hours it seems

as the trees shoot endless parasols of green.