Practicing Resurrection

Today I am imagining what it would be like
To be the hill that stepped out of the lake just here:
To feel purple and yellow wildflowers grow
And listen to the climactic sound of bees humming past.
I am surprised at my ability to empathize
As I picture summers and falls,
The shore now exposing rocks tossed in
By lovers making memories to sustain them through drought.
I can almost feel the dirt crack
And the dry brittle grass snap in the heat of the Indian Summer
When all hope has been swallowed up
And only the dry reality of death remains.

So this is what it means to practice resurrection:
To experience death because the rain will come;
New life drenching every inch, felt fully
By me and it and us.