Spring

*Written in twelve minutes in my writing workshop at the beginning of this term. I finally edited it and decided it was timely.

 

 

This is what it looks like:

                plum blossoms,

                sunny daffodils,

                pink Gerber daisies,

                and lavender, satin tulips

                        borrowed from a wax museum.

 

This is how it feels:
                breezy days, set against crisp,

                and chilled nights. The sky -

                        blue, azure, cerulean –

                cloudless one instant:

                         overcast with a sprinkle

                         of rain the next.       

This is how it appears,

                 an explosion of color:

                                violets, day lilies, hydrangea, heather,

                                the aroma of jasmine sweet,

                                         cherry blossoms making

                                         their own virulent case.

 

Friends arouse out of hibernation, isolation

                to join us in celebration

                                of balmier days,

                                and expansive afternoons,

                as if the brittle winter before coveted

                                harvested energy,

                                feeding on the past season’s

                                        leftovers.

 

It’s time for those special seasonal delights:

                Meyer lemon pie, luscious nectarines,

                Strawberry rhubarb cobbler,

                freshly picked cherries,                

                grilled asparagus with olive oil

                               and fresh garlic.

                                or sugar snap peas

                                with shaved almonds.

 

The city here absorbs green grass, nature’s stain,

                with tree buds flowering:

                                roller bladers,

                                skate boarders,

                scale Golden Gate Park,

                                while amorous picnickers,

                                gently kissing, reading

                                Barrett Browning and Whitman,

                                         plan June weddings.

 

It’s a time for rebirth, the leftover muck from seasons past

                                turn to mulch,  

                                where vegetation

                                is reawakened,

                                with gentle eruption.

 

It becomes tactile, smells anew, tastes scrumptious,

                my favorite time of year for renewal,

                                growth and endless

                                        possibilities.

 

                                Spring.

 

 (C) Michael Wayne Holland, All Rights Reserved, 2012