When it BlossomsI never have seen spring, but she was springtime; fresh and new and beautiful.I have always lived in this climate bear of springtime, where everything supposedly blossoms. All I know is scorching hot tar that could cook eggs and wet slippery cement when it rains, dead flowers and leaves dotting the path like a dirtier dead version of a trail of roses to your lover’s bed. Maybe the grass got slightly greener after rain, but I have never really seen flowers bloomed. There was not much nature to speak of. I was a city boy among blocks of grey and zipping cars and cleanly cut bushes. And cute little cats. There was one down my block called Kitty because everyone is boring like that.We were flower buds then. I have always lived in this area. It was my where my soils were rooted and I would probably grow from here for the rest of my life, stretching and tumbling through, reaching for the sun. Through the warm beginnings when I was a deeply rooted sapling, I had other fr
Springtimepraise to the sun,coos the mourning dove, praisepraise to the dew vibratingon the power lines, praisepraise to the bees who crowd the jasmineblossoms, aching for their scentpraise to the squirrels,loud in their trees, praisepraise to the thorns tangled throughbranches and pollen drifting, praisepraise to the day with shadows longand praise to the cloudless nightpraise to the ache that splits my head,doubles my vision, praisethe ragweed, the chamomile, praisepraise to the sweat trailing down,praise to perfume and fresh cut grasspraise, says the sugar ant, praisepraise to the spider who spins her webwith the breeze, praisepraise to the lizards who battle forterritory and the feral cat who eats them,napping in the shade, praiseand to the change of seasons when it comes,emphatically gemini, praise
