I am the turning and the wheel,
she says, and in my bones I feel
the thawing of the winter frost
which comes with spring. What have we lost
that we no longer know her voice?
Was it by writ or else by choice,
that we no longer know or hear
that gentle voice, the changing year
a number on a printed page.
We live, we die, we grow, we age.
Rebecca explains: “For me, this poem is about the lost connection between the modern man or woman and the changing world around them. In a way, almost without realising it, we working to create barriers, distancing ourselves from the natural turn of the seasons and the passage of time. We do this both on a personal level and a larger scale, yet we are part of that natural cycle ourselves. Whatever happens, we were born and we will die. We will return to ‘the earth’ – and from that earth, something new will grow.”