On a raw late April morning, walking down a puddled lane that snakes and rises through the back woods of town, I can’t help but think….
Quite a thing…quite a thing, this spring.
Residual drops from last night’s rain cling to blades of thirsty lawns.
A small break of sun splits the clouds; tendrils of steam rise off the heated roadway as robins splash in pollen painted pools.
Again…I can’t help but think….
Quite a thing…quite a thing, this spring.
Drooping rows of lilacs bow as I pass by; down, but not out, bent but not defeated.
A Dog yaps as he passes; the owner assuring, he only wants to play.
A jogger slogs by scattered rows of tulips; they struggle to stand tall again, reaching towards the sun.
Pink eared Dogwoods sway within a breeze that nibbles more than bites; squirrels jump from branch to branch, in the moment, uncaring, but not uncertain.
Azaleas, splashed in white, purple, pink, and red, stand proud like King and Queen watching by the gate.
The mourning dove coos, the woodpecker pecks, a hawk soars and a pair of chipmunks dart beneath parked cars.
The air is moist and cool.
The earth refreshed.
Again…I can’t help but think….
Quite a thing…quite a thing, this spring.
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