Time will not be pushed, nor will the stubborn soil.
Slowly, in the dark, seeds grow in silence,
Till – ready to emerge – they nudge the earth to open
And, womb-like, Gaia births and feeds her young.
A not-yet-woman quells her fear and sings,
Rejoicing in the dark, the growth, the silence.
Her secret will be shared with others, graced,
Witnessing, with her, the Sacred Birth.
Often weary pilgrims, we trudge along our paths
Suffering the dark, the growth, the silence –
Bearing, without knowing it, the Alpha in our lives,
Waiting to be placed on different hay.