Emergence

 

As the cicadas blindly make their

way through the soil

that bore them,

and last winter's buds burst

into white lace on the fringetree,

the juneberries that were flowers

a few weeks ago plump and color,

soon to ripen.

As tadpoles are growing legs

and losing tails,

and the newly hatched bluebirds

are on their way to becoming fledglings,

the tiny balls of fluff, tucked

safely into the straw mulch of

the vegetable garden, are looking

more and more like the rabbits they

have always been.

As cotyledons pierce the

the seed coat and emerge in 

the dark of night,

and snakes writhe to shed the
skin that confines them, 

caterpillars, unimaginably, dissolve
themselves into the newness

of butterflies.

I trust the ways of 

metamorphosis but

what about me?

I know the restlessness that

precedes birthing in the wild ones.

"Am I not also wild?"

"Trust the process," he said.

Who and into what am I on my way

to becoming? 

Who and into what, are you?

* Dedicated with thanksgiving to Glenn, Jo Ann, Doreen, Susan, Daniel, Glenda, Janet and Charlotte.