Spring (Barber version 2)

A luminous meditation on the turning of seasons and the quiet resurrection of the earth. Barber writes with the eye of someone who sees the unfurling of spring not as mere spectacle but as sacred testimony, each blade of grass, each returning bird, a small miracle. The poem moves between joy and tenderness, between the burst of color after winter's long grey and the poet's awareness that all this beauty carries the seed of its own passing. There is no heaviness here, only a kind of holy attention: the way light falls on a field, the particular silence of a morning. For readers who find cathedrals in wildflower meadows and sermons in bees, this is a brief, luminous piece of nature writing that remembers to wonder.