Mother Earth is a poem

Mother Earth is a poem. Her tides set the tempo, a perfect iambic heartbeat — ta-DUM ta-DUM ta-DUM ta-DUM ta-DUM.

Her waters yield magic as they rush forth and recede — starfish, seashells, spawning sturgeon on a flooded lawn.

Her sky finds the tone — muted morning pastels, cheerful lemon sunshine, an angry strike of lightning, a mellow fall of rain, the elegant stretch of an aurora borealis.

Mother Earth is a song. Her wind rises and lowers the conductor’s baton, strikes chimes like a glockenspiel, rustles leaves like a sand drum.

Her animals find their notes and a thousand part harmony — tweets and bleats, howls and growls, maaas and baaas, brays and neighs, moos and cuckoos.

Mother Earth is a dance. Her orbit sets the rhythm, her people find the beat.

Her trees bend and sway, her birds swoop and pirouette, her buffalo stomp and march, her bobcats stretch and leap, her fish flit and wiggle, her tulips pose and bow, her eagles glide and spin.

Mother Earth is a masterpiece.