Fresh Ponies

She left and the job went too. Empty I watch them go like two trains charging for the horizon someplace worth getting to, fast. Alone. I am an abandoned town. The once-proud schools have all been informed that they are only buildings after all. And the silent ballfields look foolish- still fully dressed still eagerly clutching their neatly squared bases. But this morning I awoke from dreamless black sleep, to find the world had made itself anew. Someone, apparently, had coaxed it through a car wash: all sparkling puddles and whistle-sharp shafts of clean sunshine. Spring leaves shine with dew, wriggling wildly in the wind like fresh ponies and when the wind eases momentarily they hold out their palms to show me their tiny prizes. And the air - the air! Springtime fresh, it's fierce, and alive- the air of high mountain passes has turned up down here, somehow. It seems the world makes itself anew for me every day and I would do well would I do the same.