Hibernating in Spring
It is usually snow that deadens sound
But can’t muffle underground potential.
It is usually that winter ice causes a pause and provides
A brace for precarious bursts of Spring newness.
That time of frost indelibly contributes
To nature’s continual impermanence,
I find those changes reassuring-
It is usually winter that roots me,
That compels me to simplify and prioritise,
To slow down, to notice, to depend.
Winters’ chilly dormancy is when I am
Supposed to reclaim nature’s enduring control,
When its indifference tricks me into thinking
I am in charge, I’ve got this.
It isn’t that the quiet are reflecting
It is that quietness is reflection.
To wait is to anticipate,
To do nothing is to do something.
To start with, nothing happens,
And I am hibernating in Spring.
