Ostara

Sprouting
Out of a toxic soil
Out of a hard adobe dirt...
I feel the strain to grow,
Like life, wind, pressure, pushing against my delicate core.

I am stretching!
Reaching for the heavens,
In ways unbelieved
Unseen...
Each day,
A different shine,
A different shade,
A different breeze of windy spirits
In their marches and aisles
And drumbeats.

I am this tiny, frail emerging
Protected somehow
Against harsh rains,
Drought..
Protected amongst
Everyday threats, changes...
Ever
Reaching high
Somehow.

I've got a long way to grow,
But the truth is,
It only takes
A Season.