Instead of rain, a greater mildness came today, and birds pecked at the green, bedraggled lawn and splashed in the water bowl. The bare branches were warmed by sunlight, the squirrels clambered and chattered, the lately-belching chimneys stood smokeless on dry rooftops. Serene afternoon passed, and dusk brought a surprising chorus of frogs who sang as stars emerged, so it seemed as though March had arrived early, with April on its heels. Astonished, I was rendered speechless by the unexpected gift. I'll be watching the moon all night, and listening for owls.
Has My Heart Gone to Sleep?
by Antonio Machado
Has my heart gone to sleep? Have the beehives of my dreams stopped working, the waterwheel of the mind run dry, scoops turning empty, only shadow inside?
No, my heart is not asleep. It is awake, wide awake. Not asleep, not dreaming— its eyes are opened wide watching distant signals, listening on the rim of vast silence.