The earth knows my name. I hear her call it.
“It’s time…,” she tells me. Her voice a gentle whisper.
There is no trace of my garden buried under two feet of snow. No hint of Spring in the air. And yet, like the magnetic forces beginning to draw the birds back north, I hear her beckon.
Having listened for so many years, I am elated to hear her voice begin to grow stronger once again. And, as I have for so many years, I answer her call.