OK, words.
Show me what you’ve got.
Soar. and dig. and dwell. and flee.
Run through fields of echinacea
like you always do, but
then veer into new territory.
Surprise me.
Don’t be verdant for the sake of verdant
when green will do,
and, oh, do I miss that green in
the dying days of February.
Past experience promises spring
and perhaps sooner this year than later.
So: Green and flowers and fresh spring air
today, words? No industrial clangs
or down-shifting semi trucks?
I can take that. I see a butterfly
in the proverbial mind’s eye
and birds peck at the feeder on the deck —
O ho, a metaphor —
the dormant outdoors anxious for spring
as I sit inside
reaching for the words
at the expectant end
of the endless cycle.
Thank you, words. Well played.
