Wake-up Calls

Full Bloom 27 January 29, 2017

I heard the peepers. That was not an illusion,
but they’re silent now, back in their muddy
homes, waiting for Arctic blasts to dissipate
and sun to warm the earth again, windless
days to prevail, crocuses to open lavender
petals, daffodils to risk their leaves.
More things scare me now. I wake at 4 a.m.
I must do what I don’t know how to do. My
nights are haunted if I don’t heed those 
wake-up calls. They’re meant to warn, not
destroy. Like a skin of ice on the dog’s
water, they melt when I focus my attention
on what is pushing my panic button. I seek
help. Answers are there somewhere. Once
found, the ice thaws. Then I sleep well
again. My spirit proves resilient, like grass
flattened by a car that rises up again. 
Growing things are bent on life, as I am
aimed at my own success. These disturbing
calls merely insist that I get to work,
whether I want to or not.