The south hill is covered in bright fluffy green
and baby ferns giggle and dance in the rain.
In the branches and brambles, birds’ nests hide,
holding downy hatchlings too young even to wonder
where they are and what happened.
What happened, indeed!
All at once it seemed, from silence and nothing,
color and song rose into the air, and I got to stand here
in the spring rain with wild violets and celandine poppies,
knowing no more than the baby birds know,
but old enough now to know wonder.