Rivers like roots
binding sea to land.
Forests silent at dusk;
mist rising like breath,
from the slow rhythm of winter hills,
like ancient cattle,
gathered at the gate of spring.
Pause with me a moment,
stay quiet, and let your eye
fall and rise through valleys
dissolved in clouds.
Then you may hear it too –
soft and distant, that insistent tap,
from underground tunnels and hidden lairs,
buried caves and just-thawed mud,
of seeds unfurling and bulbs cracking;
of worms uncurling and mice turning,
buds glinting and sap stirring –
for chaotic awesome life
is sleeping yet,
but like the restless dragon on her hoard,
she is about to blink.
The last image inspired by watching The Hobbit on Christmas Eve (which I thought was good, despite anticipating a reaction against an excess of Middle-Earth…). Posted at Poets United.