Spring is here.
You won’t find an exclamation point at the end of that statement on this blog.
I’ve never cared for this slow build toward summer. I contentedly decline Spring’s invitation to enjoy the extended sunshine by doing more. No thanks. While others are running, hiking, biking and planting, I’ll be inside, wrapped in something warm, writing moody poems, longing for fall. When I do venture out, it will be only to admire precocious neighborhood cats who bask in fabulousness regardless of the season. They are a great comfort.
It’s time to come out
From the warm and wet underneath
Where it felt so good to dip my hands
And feet until all was consumed
The clocks have jumped forth
And now I must wait patiently for the quiet hour
Contend with the day’s fingers stretching
Into my rich worm holes
Illuminating, tickling, overwhelming and leading to
Stiff drinks in which swirl the memories of grains and grapefruit peels
Oh, if only to instead lay outstretched
The central figure on a cracked and settled driveway
Paws intermittently spreading, limbs stretching
To amplify the comfort
Confident, full and a little bored
Among all this doing and not doing. -KB