Saturday, November 13, 2004
You are sweet, soft rain
caressing brittle,
cracked soil.
Creeping, seeping
silently into tight crevices
until they open,
and the small, fragile clusters break,
and are smoothed
into deep chestnut earth.
You are the south wind's song.
Your breezes fan in arcs,
sweep grassy slopes.
Waves of buttercups and daisies
dance before you
and dandelions explode
in celebration of your arrival.
You are fresh
deep red strawberry drippings,
trickling down the sides of a slick glass jar.
You are rich and redolent,
a honeyed harvest,
tempting waiting tongues,
damp
with anticipation.
Saturday, November 13, 2004
I love spring & flowers.