All Things

Hot to cold, cold to hot,

Light to dark, dark to light,

Suddenly a seed cracks as the ice melts,

sending a brilliant green shoot up through the soil,

reaching for the rising warmth of a Spring day,

as season progresses and the right time comes.

Leaves spread,

first strawberries,

then weeds,

mints in pace with those,

oregano reclaiming its own as lemon balm lags behind,

a world of life waking up once more

as time continues its ancient march to eternity.

Suddenly the cherries are blooming,

a blizzard of pink and white petals

out of time with everything,

rejoicing at the very beginning and gone before the other trees

even have a clue.

What is this to you?

Far overhead the moon arcs,

cataloging nights with the steady sweep of the Earth’s shadow across its reflecting face,

and further up the sun spins,

its blazing touch coming in

a little different with each day,

as the blue world with its moon pulled tides


hand in gravitic hand

around the brilliant center of its system

its path almost

but not quite

a circle.

And further still,

the planets,

the stars,

the galaxies,

an intricate spread of blazing lights,

rushing out like sparks from a single firework,

with an arc far greater than us ants can understand,

yet with a definite beginning

and a promised end.

What is this to you?

Deep in our own chests

our heart beats,

each beat a pulse of blood


all that we would begin,

the first beat starting eighteen Earth-rotations in,

and the last ending us an unknown number further on,

and between them

the growth of bone and skin,

the learning of a brain,

the forming of our soul,

and the working of our hands.

What is this to you?

You have heard,

“to each thing a time,

and a time to each purpose.”

You have heard,

“There is nothing new

under the sun.”

The cycles run,

endless until they end,

raising from dust

and rotting to dust

a thousand generations of every living thing.

What is this to you

who shall end as this is true?

What more is there that can possibly be done,

than to run

a course that has already been run,

and was old before your ancestor’s ancestor

had even begun?

Know it for what it is,

enjoy it for what it is,

and you will change it none.

What is this to you?

Have you felt the Earth quake beneath your hands with longing,

or heard the trees wonder in the blowing wind?

Have you seen the promise on the changing skies,

and smelled the hope at the winter’s end?

A little bird told me his dreams,

and a silence whispered a mysterious thing,

a child saw a change that is coming,

and the space between heartbeats echoed

a song too joyful to sing.

Have you heard the words they bring?


I am making new all things.”

(This poem written as a response to “Time Ticking By”, written by Blair King and found at: )


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