Slow, from darkened hold,
Reaching sunward, slim green arms.
Gentle Scilla wakes.
Friday 9 March 2012
Softly, from her slumber...
My forest is stirring. Quietly, in the thin light, the trees and plants are remembering. Soon they will shake out their new spring clothes, light and delicate. Birds move among them, heralding their return. Now, new blue faces greet me each day, among their snow-white cousins outside my door...
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I can feel the slow warming sensation of Spring wakening in your words.
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