I walk out into the desert’s winter, watching for signs.
The blonde brittle grasses part, giving me a glimpse of apple green beneath.
The hard ground softens for ants wakening to build spring mounds.
Black broken trees play dead, but tell me the sap is rising like warm honey in their limbs.
The mountains’ sprinkling of sugar pours down into liquid in the washes.
Wildflowers are plotting from deep within their seeds, imagining their riot.
And I thrill to the feel of my heart widening into the sweet flow of breath within.
The land is remembering me into new life.
