Spring Song

Everything suddenly golden still, the sun a hovering golden bird.  Nothing moves.  Soft clouds wait like floating houses in the sky and the storm beyond the horizon waits.  Planets stopped in their tracks as if forever was now and the grass roots knew it all.  

But they don’t you know and here I am with both hands high under the skirts of the world.  Trying to figure it out. 

Everything rearranged itself from is to was.  The white moon tracks her silver self across the purple night replacing time with a celestial hour glass.  

Al Purdy