It begins —
This thing call Spring —
With sunshine and birdsong
Slowly infused into everything.
It begins with
Deep brown rivers gauged in viscous dirt roads,
As the frozen ground thaws and overflows.
I’ve never really loved the mud —
Trudging through the umber sludge,
But it’s a sign that something better’s on its way.
It isn’t here quite yet,
This thing called Spring
But I heard the birds today and, well, that’s something.
A beginning.
Somewhere in the summer sun,
Where dandelions dance and sing
Along with the bluebird’s lonesome cry,
Alone, you’ll find me, lying there
Between the grass seed and maple leaves,
What
is this, this viscous liquid I’m drowning in, something dark and opaque, I cannot breathe—
What is
Slowly,
I stand,
simmering in the seraphic summer sun, softly
stammering silly sayings,
smiling at the shining sky.
Solemnly,
I sit,
in the scenes of September, singing
Comments
I love this! :)
Thank you!!
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