there are secrets awakening in the grass,
hidden in seeds that are stirred by the wind, to land in my hand.
there are riddles in the stones, and in the new leaves, written in a wavering eldritch script that i cannot read.
the language of spring thrums in my veins,
bright birdsong and the muted mutter of thunder.
lifting my face to the sky, i close my eyes as the rain begins to fall,
and open my mouth, to catch the first raindrop upon my tongue, a gift, and suddenly, i understand.