Can you hear the faint fraying of the old, of the ground trembling to the rumbling below and the sun’s warmth permeating the musty as the magnetic pull of growth?
The little ones are still and are now listening and waiting as bulging, succulent buds longing to burst into a forever of new. Having learnt some patience and to move with the nudges and spasmodic auto responses, their breath is shallow and sometimes paused in anticipation of their time.
The faraway call of the dove, the prismed reflection of iridescent yellow and red and the cleanest of green speckle as freckles through soil now pliable and loose. The colours shimmy as a rainbow in the sunshine where magpies and their babies warble to the doves' calls.
Tingles in toes, fingering quivers, breaths of thousands … and then the sigh that spreads as a virus across the land at the birth of the first emergence …
In a breeze of mingling mix, poppies of ruby red nudge hills of waving lush. The light is new. Crisp, yet stark, as though a new filter has been created and added to illuminate pixels never seen before.
But there’s more that I can’t yet see, more my heart knows and craves. More pheromones of free and lingering in a shouldering strength waiting on the other side of those hills. The barest of touch is there and yet it’s not quite a touch. Perhaps it’s more soul fibres connecting in touch.
The key is to be aware of it brewing in this dawn of light, to feel the enigmatic anticipation of tantalising desire running through one’s roots, a desire bordering addiction. Be ready for it.
The aesthetic grows, the patter of rain on a tin roof … more of the stanza to come.