This year I shall try to live with the seasons.
The earth lives effortlessly, knows its urges,
its limitations. The earth listens to itself,
its needs. It listens, heeds a patient voice;
Not yet, or Wait and see, as a grown-up
counsels a child, or inner child, or fool.
To trust in an unheard rhythm, while laid inert
by stones in pockets or slow, retreating sap,
is an act of faith. Yet slow green shoots come
even to the faithless; the stone may be moved
by heat beneath; colonies mobilise, synchronise.
Energy is constant: passed from heat, to movement,
to the brain. So fingers move, then make,
waking to their Spring, after long dark.


from #NaPoWriMo @poetryschool Prompt 1


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