Beyond the threshold of the known,
in misty fields where herds graze,
in wet forests where snowdrops whiten,
your new spring is born.
Everything is familiar and everything is different.
In every drop of the dew, life is pulsing.
You don’t yet know your might.
There’s no story like your story,
there’s no power like the one you’ve been given,
there’s no way like your way.
Neither straight nor crooked,
neither by foot nor on horseback,
neither by land nor air.
No man, the messenger of peace,
has set foot here for thousands of years,
but children play here every day.
For thousands of years, dark mountains have risen
where the hills were once covered with blossoming cherries
and horses lazily pastured on green grass,
where a boundless sea splashed before . and the Spirit of God moved upon the waters.
The first spring of the world,
your new spring.
Birds soar into the sky,
wheat roots grow into the ground,
fields burst with colors.
First published on Steemit