Cottonwood Nights

Cottonwood puffs blow through the trees, land on the pond like a migrating flock. 

The Sandhill crane walks silently, tenderly, as if to honor the fluffy seed migration, as if it is as awe-inspiring as her thousand mile travels. 

And it is. 

Turtle heads break the still of the water and receive a laurel of white as they emerge, victors over a harsh winter. 

Deer are near, I can feel their gentle energy, holding the peace.

Grape Hyacinth is only now blooming, having stayed in hibernation past it’s due day. 

It glows. 

Bumble bee buzz around the greenery, yellow warblers dance on a branch and frogs sing their continuous spring song.

So much life.

The crane’s mate joins her and onward they walk looking for a nesting place: together, in silence. 

My days are often filled with noise; it is around me, and in me. And yet here, by this tiny pond, where life buzzes, peeps, whistles and sings, it is quiet. 

It is a different sort of quiet. A living quiet.

Quiet enough to hear my heart speak.

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