A free-verse poem about the joys of springtime. |
Spring exploded a few weeks back. This day I stand on my back porch, admiring the fresh greenness and all the colorful blossoms competing for attention in the backyard. I hear the birds’ songs and the buzz of the bumblebees lumbering along. The drab barrenness of winter has been routed by the vibrant colors of spring – the whites, reds, pinks, yellows, blues. New growth, new life is all around. The grass looks like a luxurious, thick carpet of newborn green. The day is warm – upper 70s under a cloudless, bright blue sky. I soak in the sights, the smells of spring! I think of how the ancients celebrated the arrival of spring with dancing barefooted in the new grass, wearing crowns of splendor woven from fresh flowers, with festive music and revelry. They knew well the wonders of harsh winter giving way to gentle spring; they knew how to celebrate appropriately. My wife comes out to stand beside me. I look at her. I look at the inviting yard. With a wide smile, I say, “Take off your shoes. Let’s feel the grass under our feet, as we enjoy the wonder of this spring day.” Spring makes children of old men. Please check out my ten books: http://www.amazon.com/Jr.-Harry-E.-Gilleland/e/B004SVLY02/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 |