The Sun in her mercy bent down to kiss my freshly woken face.
Warmth radiated from her eager, easterly posture.
Benevolently she blessed me.
“In the sheltered and secret place…
Let me see your face,
Let me hear your voice;
For your voice is sweet,
And your face is lovely.”
The breeze caressed my limbs with her post winter breath.
She sang of spring as she gently swirled around the bareness of my winter-weary feet.
“Awake, O north wind,
and come, O south wind!
Blow upon my garden
that its fragrance may be wafted around.”
The birds, so sweet in their symphony,
Sang the truth about a land in peace.
They freely and unashamed opine where the terrain is true;
Falling silent only when the land is filled with forbidding and falsehood.
“Like a swallow, like a crane, so I chirp;
I coo like a dove.
My eyes look wistfully upward;
O Lord, I am oppressed, take my side and be my security.”
From the steaming cup, I swallow
The sweet with a shade of suffering.
This liquid slides from lips that sip through the passage, past the phonemes.
It pours into hidden valleys and flows from rivers,
awakening my DNA for the day to come.
“Your lips are lie a crimson thread,
and your mouth is lovely.
Under the apple tree I awakened you.”
Awake, rise, come away with me my darling.
Come back to yourself, to the spring within.
I nod a knowing nod, to the sun, to the song, and to the spring.