Sometimes this feeling
sets in--as if that whole
field of flowers is gold
and wine and perfect. Some
feel that way when spring
unfolds its leaves and petals
and the sunshine flows
and we listen to the cadence
of the downy reds, drumming
their way around an old
tree trunk. Others think--
as the peepers gather
and the chorus swells--
that these are ordinary
sounds. I believe
that what we feel
is only the tremor
of earth's mystical heart.