Even a young bird has to grow before they can fly <>*<>
What happened?
Why the change?
Did something crack open suddenly?
Did you finally awaken in the middle of the night
to your power, your promise, your path?

What spirit beckoned to you at dusk,
in the clapping leaves of evening breezes,
reciting the destiny of the ages into your ear?

What lightning strike has singed your soul?
What gods burned the sacred bush in the cavernous reaches of your heart?

– Sarah La Rosa

About Laura

When my nest emptied I moved from the big city to a little big town to tend to a ramshackle yellow house on the edge of town. These are my Yellow House Days.
This entry was posted in at the heart of things, not my poetry, Wild things. Bookmark the permalink.

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