That rarest of things — a sunny Texas afternoon without mosquitos. The vegetable garden gently, almost imperceptibly, swelling, taking up every inch of the rough-hewn low wooden walls, like a child sitting up in her pajamas, stretching, greeting the day on her own terms, at her leisure. Sage & crepe myrtle pierce the wide curtain of this emerald world, pin pricks incarnadine, a visual Morse code signaling the opposite of SOS: We are saved, we live still, we’ll be fine. Pollen-frosted cars, minnows darting along the creek bed. Countless nameless spores float and twirl, coast and rest underfoot, tangling, nestling in the thick grass. And the sky. The sky today a near parody of brightness & calm, for a moment, free of birds, of clouds, and as far as you can see, even free of residual gaseous trails of people eager or required to be somewhere else. Heaven cannot be gated on a day like today.

An awakening
foretold of strength and purpose -- 
Be brave where you are

_{Written in community with VerseLove, a group of mostly educators writing a poem every day of April (National Poetry Month). The prompt for today: Write a haibun (I happened to write one yesterday). This one inspired by the Sanctus.}