The Sound of Plants Growing

The Sound of Plants Growing (a poem)

Sometimes in the spring,

in the middle of the night,

standing out in my backyard

looking up at the stars,

I hear a subtle sound.

It’s hard to describe.

Too soft to be an animal

moving through last fall’s leaves.

And too diffuse.

Coming from all around me,

from the spread of ground,

of moss and dormant fern crowns.

Where, in the dark,

the tulips and daffodils

are emerging from the dirt.

Where the wild perennial Phlox,

only a couple inches tall,

is already preparing for summer’s bloom.

It’s not a rustling sound,

not a squeaking,

maybe more like a crinkling or crackling.

And not quite that either.

Because rustling and crackling imply dryness,

and this is a moist, silky sound.

Maybe like the sound of a leaf

rubbed between your fingers.

It’s a sound of change,

of something happening that I can’t see.

I think it must be the sound of plants growing.

(c) April 16, 2023 Kaia Fowler