February 23: Hosanna

[February Feels Like]

In the quietest of spaces,
On a twig in the hedge;
near a cone at the top
of a Torrey Pine tree;
one chirp begins the sound of day—
the downbeat for a symphony.

On a hillside,
high above the morning wave,
Pacific water rushing in and easing out;
a first brush-stroke begins the great unfolding—
the plein air narrative of this moment.

Somewhere on the land beneath the rocks
where massive middens of abalone and debris
evidence our ancient places on coastal shores,
a dancer lifts one bare foot mocking the slow
deliberate step of a blue heron;
raising a bare leg in the manner of a Sandhill Crane,
lifting a jointed limb like the graceful Snowy Egret.
as if we humans could take flight.

We poets place words in the mouths of crows;
create a language of our own imaginings.
We imagine song as if sparrows were singing.
We imagine dance as if shore birds could touch the sky.
We view the painter’s renderings as evidence
of our meanderings—our longings made visible.

Sending up our praises, our hallelujahs, our hosannas.
We embrace the musicians, the dancers, the painters, the poets, the sculptors, the weavers of thread….
We who create hold common cause.
We honor all that is beautiful.

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Sojourner Kincaid Rolle, What Breathes Us: Santa Barbara Poets Laureate 2005-2015

as spotted in the Santa Barbara Botanic Garden.