The Good Book

A lightness within the page,
like autumn's signature in the leaves,
full with meaning,
a revelation drawn out to invite remembering.

A weight within the page,
like winter's weight upon the blacktop,
at first so slight,
until one knows snow as does the Eskimo.

A swell within the page,
like spring rains pounding the planter's plains,
so the wheat will grow,
feeding a nation the bread that brings life.

A heat within the page,
like a summer fire on a dry forest floor,
drawing out the fuel
of last autumn's remembering lying underfoot.