Some hot August day
I will think of the moment
when the Quaking Aspen leaves unrolled
Unborn a week ago, now awakened
green hearts dance joyfully above me
in the wild spring gale,
gripping mightily their link to earth.
But some hot August day, when the gales have spent themselves
and the air itself is heavy, when I am languid and
all of nature is still – waiting –
holding its breath,
My eyes will search the tender leaves of the Quaking Aspen
for witness of what I cannot see – some hint of breeze –
and I will gratefully return to the cool spring day this week
when the earth brought forth these spirited companions.