Revival

The sun peeks through the slit

in the curtains, its rays warming

my skin. I'd almost forgotten

what it felt like. Winter's fury

appears to have abated,

and I venture out for the first time

in what feels like ages, breathing in

the change carried by the winds.

The flutelike song of the wood thrush

echoes throughout, filling

the budding sycamore trees

with sweet, heartwarming melodies.

They sing of love, foraging for leaf-litter

as they prepare homes, readying

to bring new life into these woodlands.

Bent over, I press my hand to soil

dampened by melting snow,

feeling the ground tremble

as Mother Nature thrusts rebirth

toward the light. The delicate crocus

reminds me that no matter how bruised

and battered I am, hope springs

eternal, reviving the soul.