Dead trees draw life
when the days expand and the sun
fulfills its promise, oft delayed
by the clutch of ice.
Clotted, gnarled, knotted twigs
on the trees sense sap and the death
of death. They stretch, begin
to puff green on the end.
We sing new songs
of a Life laid down for rebirth
when Easter is the Spring
and the branch is Christ.
— Mark A. Noll
Every new birth is a miracle. I saw two yesterday:
And To All, A Happy Easter!