Yesterday it was 82--July in April. I had no idea where I was--I could have had fur and four paws.  I could have been swimming underwater in a jewel.  I could have been dreaming, time turned into memory.  I was in my own skin walking through a new planet's hot breath. 

Today it's the 70's, the next four days, the 50s, then the 60's: spring, with daffodils in her skirt, is finding her way home in her own time,  running her fingers through the trees and clouds.

The magnolia tree across the way has burst into bulbs the size of a child's fist. The Japanese Red Maple has small flowers, like bird beaks, shimmering.  Where there was worn, hard gray, there's green pushing up into the air. Whatever her pace, this is Return, Rebirth, Resurrection--all words that mean again.




 


Comments

Denise Smyth
04/10/2013 2:52pm

"spring, with daffodils in her skirt, is finding her way home in her own time, running her fingers through the trees and clouds."

I only wish the seasons would change more often just so I can keep hearing you describe them.

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