Sunday, April 5, 2026

It might have been Easter

 I had not trod

this road before.

It was still fresh

from the moist

months that were

just ending.


As I crested the ridge

and gazed at

the sloping swale,

there was a large

oak, the spring time

leaves emerging

bright and somehow

fluttering without

a breeze.


And they were singing!

Because they weren't

actual leaves; it was

a thousand fold wonder

a multitude of gold finches.

A chorus of angels

celebrating a world reborn.


I can summon that sight

and that glorious song

whenever I need it,

and I have countless times

over the many springs

and winters since then.

Sometimes they even

sing within my dreams

and take wing above

that road I had never

trod before.

 

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