A recollection of rain in green fingertips
tulip bulbs testing the air
nudging up tiny conical hills
the swollen creek surges
into the last run of steelhead,
the rising Umpqua remembering spring.
I cannot attest the season as anamnesis
that begs an old question,
does the earth have a soul?
Let’s say, for our sake, it does.
What other life but its own can it recall?
Spring is the same
and different from the last, each summer
Slips into fall with a memory of every bud
Blade of grass and bug
that fades in winter cold–
How else could we get flowers
twisting darkness into light
from an April rain– you laugh?
Is it so odd to think Gaea is a soul
you can save or destroy like your own?
Perhaps Plato was onto something, earth
reminds how to live as we grow,
formed the seasons long before we know.
Earth Day 2020