“Que milagro” is what you say
When you see someone face to face
That you haven’t seen in a very long time.
“WHAT A MIRACLE,” it translates
Yet it means
The space inside the ear to ear smile
That lands in the sparkle of joy across your eyes into your soul
Upon recognition and remembrance of what and who matters.
And so it was with me and the Monarchs last fall
I greeted them loudly in the garden, tears welling, I whispered more reverentially,
My friends from childhood, me on my back on the grass, looking up at blue sky and
You, little miracles flying by, peeking and waving, on your way to pollinate.
El sanctuario, Michoacan, twenty years ago,
You still mighty in the millions
Greeting the day with the language of a zillion wings, filling the air with vibration a quarter mile away.
You, breeding, dying, leaving new birth,
Navigators of the forest set again
To fly north,
The circle and cycle, a chorus in the migration of what keeps the earth alive.
You, are endangered with extinction.
Maybe not the thriving ones in our garden, because still
The milkweed here feeds your caterpillars as they dig in to their cocoons,
Form mush, reform wings, break free, dry out and fly away home.
Not you yet.
And it is now our choice, your kin, the wingless ones, with spines.
Your neighbors, to keep watching, planting, advocating, and naming you, aloud
Christ the Good Shepherd
Various editorials, articles, and other items of interest.