Low Hum

It is cooler today than yesterday*s high eighties.  Spring is doing its thing.  The rhubarb in my garden bed grew (I swear) four inches yesterday.  The tulips are taking it more slowly.  I guess plants have their own rhythm, just like all of us.  I am so accustomed to tying Lent and Easter into spring, that I do wonder how people in Australia, moving from fall to winter, understand it, live it.  I suppose there would be some good preaching possibilities on Jesus*s birth being celebrated at the beginning of summer.  But I digress.  Spring does that to me.  Spring is distracting, all on its own, without the end of Lent, and Holy Week very much in the mix.  The promise of new life is oh so present.  It hums.

Everyone reclaims his spot, her spot;

The robins re-evaluate the lawn:

Hop hop    listen    hop hop    listen 

Hop.

Yesterday*s warm

Brings the worms closer to the surface.

The robins listen with their feet

through the almost grass

to the rumble of worms

below.

The signs of immanent resurrection

Are here.

The music has already begun.

The birds, yes, but there is also

A low hum on the downbeat.

It will be hard to walk through Holy Week

Without a slight swing in the step.

So many signs in the dirt

So many signs perched

In the trees,

The low hum of humus

On the downbeat

Promises more

Than we can see or hear;

Beyond the signs,

Under the earth,

There is more.