Fingers Crossed

Sitting at this rickety old wooden table,
I can see the sunshine flickering off
the burbling brook below my house. 

The fall-deadened trees sway and rustle in
the sweet spring air as fat gray squirrels
tumble and climb and nose around the underbrush.

A breeze lifts the pastel blue sheets drying
out on a clothesline that seems just on the brink of snapping
and falling to the green-brown-red ground.

Pale paper-thin leaves float over the new grass blades
as chicken feet scratch up muddy flower beds and 
peck over pine needle laden roots.

On the calendar, spring happened almost a month ago,
and Vermont never seems to make up its mind, 
but I think this time the warm breeze of spring will stay.

(Fingers crossed.)

 

Zorro

VT

17 years old

More by Zorro

  • thoughts

    Winter is coming.

    Silently with chapped lips and 

    breath in the cool air.

    But, I think I'll finish this 

    half-baked thought later 

    when winter has come and gone.

  • Ghost

    Once a sweet violet syrup of passion,
    now the bitter acid of indifference.

    Once a giddiness like rays of sun on your lips in the spring,
    now a cold careless ghost of the past.

    I indulged in the newness,
  • Floating

    My head is in the sky with those puffy white clouds of giddiness and
    A foggy understanding of what is to come is all that inhabits my brain.
    My skin is warmed by hot star energy and the smile pulling at the corners of my lips