I lay tucked in, head under my own warm arm, shutting out the thin light and piercing cold of this aching Winter. Waking suddenly, I wonder what disturbed my coiled slumber. It was the scent of her, the brush of Her feathers and the sound of Her soft feet.
My head lifts and my eyes scan all horizons. She is coming! There will be a transformation of great spectacle, not to be missed. The magnolias in great enthusiasm push out blooms, even before they have bothered to organise their leaves. Eyes start to weep, unlocked by her seed carried on the breeze. Dormant things clench against their inner reserves and burst into budding. Even the Sun is excited by her coming, getting up earlier and lingering longer at the end of day, hoping to catch sight of her.
She will not come in state, like queens of old. No heavy carpets and braying trumpets. She is all delicacy. Her wings linger in the air as She emerges from the Underworld and touches Her small pink foot upon the earth. Her pinkness spreads and glows in the newness of multitudinous things. The sound is tender when petals part and innocent green shoots break through the soil.
Young creatures wobble into life, but soon learn the tumbling and bouncing steps of Her joyous dance. She calls us out into the brightness of springing days. Everything that was bound is to be loosed and shaken. Our appetites awaken and She invites us to prepare feasts to celebrate Her coming.
I rise up from my Winter nest of comfort and find my walking boots. Cloaked in my finest feathers, I go out to greet Her.
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