Poem: It Was Never Sudden

The trees did not bloom overnight.

They stood through cold rain,
bare branches,
gray skies,
wind,
waiting.

And then one morning,
without asking permission,
the wisteria came.

The dogwoods opened.
The frogs began.
The whole world turned soft again.

People will call it sudden.

But you will know.

You will know how much living happened

underground

invisible

quietly

at first.

Healing happens under a wound.
Creating happens behind the eyes.
Sometimes even while we sleep.

Things grow within us.
The remarkable happens.

But we know.

It was not a miracle.

It was always there,
under the surface,
growing,
healing,
repairing,
becoming.

The unsung winter of our lives.

Sing now.
Hum softly to yourself.
Unfold.