Sacred spring

As spring arrives, the shift of seasons fills
my quiet hours with thoughts of change
and new, evolving life. The growth is both
rebirth of old and birth of new, as much
a thing of soul as dirt. Five billion years
ago, we all were dust of stars adrift
amid the void, and now we scan the stars
for signs of life—the dust aware of dust.
I know I am and what I was, but now
I look to see the soul I will become.
The sacred spring is made divine by change:
I bow my head in vernal thanks and praise.