The Ides have passed, along with the dark,
The gloom, the vast, looming morass of unending February.
The damp, cold gray
Shifts and stretches -
Hands fisted, arms akimbo, yawning, squinting
As a patch of blue, of light
Warmth and cold tussle,
Jockeying for last gasp or first breath,
Buoyed by the constancy of the sun.
Bulbs push their way fiercely to the
Surface of the earth, readying themselves
For the performance of a lifetime.
The air sings quietly
A tune I remember from long ago
When things were simple and a day spent
Exploring a blade of grass
Was full and fruitful,
And I – full of optimism, now -