Lightest snow falling,

earthward stars drifting,

fireflies curious to kiss the ground,

and a new birdsong has joined dawn.

Migration keeps on,

my breath expands with the music

and I smile.

The art of waiting requires immense courage,

no panic at the unknown can fix it,

choices wrenched from an undeveloped state

only put off the inevitable.

Wait when the waiting asks.

You’ll see its velvety cloak swish

from the corner of an eye.

Wait.

Dissolution and decay create the fertile

in darkness.

Until a yes, an enoughness of a way, opens,

no right action.

Seeds know when,

now is for tending inner terrain

and now is for trust.

In the waiting, the fruit.