Spring prayer

Sacred Parent, Creator of the sun.
Maker of Light. Our day star.
It’s time again to start listening to me.

The burn pile still smolders as does my thinking.
Wild men once danced around such a fire
whopping, yelling, hollering, and singing.

All urging you to push the earth closer to its star,
to use your lightning to warm up this planet,
and to blow the winter smoke from our small hamlet.

Times don’t change. My place smells smokey.
But instead of singing, I am just praying
for the start of a season of new life.

Sunrise is earlier now.
Skinny squirrels with fat tails chatter
with birds singing from another bough.

Praise Be! Tiny leaves are budding on that tree.
Maker of Light. Our day star.
You are listening to me.