“In the beginning….”
Or so the story goes.
But even in beginnings, something must end.
Does the world ever miss being without form and void?
Does it ever think back and sigh, feeling things were so much simpler back then?
I stand on the swollen spring banks of the Mississippi
And watch the waters churning amidst the sturdy trunks of the forest.
A duck and her drake bob near the shoreline, searching
For green that hasn’t yet arrived.
Is this a homecoming for them?
Did they leave their pond in the south, return their keys
To the front desk, saying “Well, vacation’s over”?
Or is this their temporary home, spring signaling the beginning
Of their time away?
For the red-breasted robins and jauntily capped chickadees,
The earth warms and begins to breathe again.
Is this the time where trees celebrate the return to life,
The pulse of their sap coursing up into their burgeoning buds?
Or is it the end of their respite, the time
When the river once again tugs at their roots and birds
Begin to make their nests?
We move and turn and come full circle,
For in every beginning, something ends.