Spring’s Truth

Nothing is mundane

when the fragrance of blossoms

blesses every breath

and blackbirds and robins

sing its praise

Nothing is mundane

when the inner greening

continues tender

and rapt attention

finds its place

All the dead blackberry stalks

have become brittle,

and though they still may snag,

they can be snapped away,

they can be left behind,

space can be made

for what is soft and fresh and sweet,

we can be defined

by where we are alive.

©Wendy Mulhern

April 10, 2016