Andromeda's Bells

Brown has side-steps the onslaught of green embarrassed at its untidiness crumbling like the ego of an unwanted lover. Shy beige and brazen auburn woodlands accept the heated, golden light of noon. Buds of saffron forsythia hug the roadside. Pearl gray p*ssywillows caress the infant cheek of dusk. Soon there will be no brown to gray forest. Soon the elegant limbs of maple and beech will be garbed in jade and draped in emerald. I would not dishonor their barren branches with mourning but the bells of andromeda have woken another spring.