spring is here
cherry blossom petals like snow
suffocating flowers delight my brain
intoxicating
I like to sit in my garden, on a bench of peeling white paint
no sounds but my weight shifting every so often and leaves whispering
a welcome, an ode to spring
pollen unkind
but vital to life,
washed away by rainfall
only to reaccumulate immediately
pavement absorbs the sun
grass is cool on my bare feet, the back of my neck, the palms of my hands
my scalp prickles with sweat, soothed by a passing breeze
I forget how much space green takes up:
leaves of trees, foliage,
all filling in the gaps of winter,
skeletons of birch and pine
time for gardening and salads and wine,
a toast to spring:
to cerulean sky and yellow days,
bare soles and bucket hats,
walking for the sake of walking;
to birth and growth
people come out from hiding;
they have braved the cold but embrace the warm,
sprawling on the ground
spring: a time of metaphors,
of new beginnings–
clichés that validate themselves annually
time to emerge from the cold and dark
time to bloom and bear
time to rise above Earth’s crust and breathe deeply
inhalations reverberating in my hollow insides,
yearning to fill the void of my hibernation
I sit in the sun
it pushes me forward, motivating
I think of all the vitamin D I must be getting
spring is here