Poem – After the long Winter
After the long Winter
There was a time when I moved through the world
like a tree in deep winter—
standing, yes,
but unnoticed,
the branches holding their stories close to the bark,
the sky passing over me without a pause.
Days would come and go with the same pale light,
and I learned to make my life small and quiet,
so the wind could slip by without remembering my name.
But seasons are faithful in ways we rarely expect.
One morning,
somewhere beneath thought,
I felt a subtle stirring—the way earth loosens
before the first shoots dare to find their way.
I didn’t do anything.
I simply noticed the warmth returning to places long cold.
And slowly,
almost shyly,
the world began to notice me back—
the sun lingering on my sleeve,
a bird landing close enough for its small weight
to be understood,
the river reflecting not just itself but the shape of me
leaning over its surface.
Now, when I walk the field at dusk,
the grasses part around me as though making room;
the horizon feels wide enough to carry my footsteps;
the sky meets my eyes without looking past them.
I move with a kind of quiet certainty,
not louder,
not brighter—simply here,
fully included in the great conversation of things.
And sometimes,
as the last light lifts from the edges of the day,
I feel myself held by everything I once thought
couldn’t see me—as if the world
had been waiting all along for me to arrive.
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