Sleeping Green
Listen:
Slow drip, drops in the mist as the black, wet branches, the damp bark of upright trunks, take their fill and refuse the rest
Tiny buds, fat with possibility, roundly growing, collect the moisture, coalesce excess at the ends, over distance let it fall
Leaves, nestled brown and skeletal, decaying where they sleep their final rest on the rich humus of forest earth, splattered, tattered and done
Rivulets spilling from tiny pools on every surface, building, darkening, dampening in dips and levels, overflowing
To the dirt below.
Rich, damp air, speckles cold across skin, fingers reddened by the surface of discomfort, scented, daintily, with the organic speech of forest
Pale blades in scattered clumps, reaching for delicate sunlight, veins, long, slender, stretching into new yellow, faint, growing into glow
Luminescent, tilt into tint by counted moments, the first sweetness of green, gaining strength, bursting into brightness under ministrations of warmth
A bird sings.
She wakes.
