As I walk,
the sloshing of the ground sucks at each foot.
Slosh, slop, suck, my boots suctioned earthward.
The snow melts into muck, and mud, and spreads toward moss.
The wind sighs heavy,
as the naked branches ripple in giant contagious waves,
spreading across the horizon.
Smeared clouds pass across a mostly blue sky.
The sun shines bright, and warm, for the first time this year.
Like the rush of a giant wave,
the air plays her great woodwind.
Dancing surefooted, from this partner to next.
I imagine she is singing, singing to me.
With each gentle sway, whispering happy birthday.
As if the sky, and the air, and the sun, and the Earth knew that today,
I celebrate my birth.
What a gift they have given to me on this day.
Warmth and sunshine.
Buds on branches.
Mud and muck.
Rivers meandering.
Branches cracking and singing on high.
Shy bits of green, spying.
The spring air breathes, pregnant with possibility.
A new year dawns, passion seeks power.
As she sighs, I sigh.
As the wind rushes, my lungs fill.
As the sun warms, my skin fondly remembers,
As the branches sing, my hips sway.
As my Mother sings this sweet melody,
I am certain, she has sang this for me.
Crystal Johnson 