Spring. Oh My Heart.

Meadowlarks are singing.

Morning sunshine makes everything golden.

There is a faint hint of green whispering its presence from the ground.

Mama cows look with suspicion upon me walking 

even though I'm on the other side of the creek and the fence.

My heart swells.

Oh. My. Heart.

It is full.  It aches with fullness.

Spring.

Tomorrow is the first day on the calendar.

But there are no hard lines to seasons.

They blur together as one fades into the next.

The sounds of the birds

at each season change

create a longing in my heart.

I wrote of it after hearing the first meadowlarks' songs

earlier this week.

Meadowlarks

I hear you

Even though I do not see you yet

You stir in me

a longing

for innocence

for fascination

for belief in wonderful magical things

for deep unfailing love

for sunshine warming the cold corners of my heart

for eight years old.

Surely

you sing of heavenly lands

You sing of the place

my soul longs for

You sing

of 

coming home

Gather my pieces all together here, Lord,

in

the song

of the

meadowlarks.