Another Fine Spring Day
Another fine spring day gently dying,
Subtle variegated colors and
Tender vivid greens are dappled now
With golden flecks and dollops of buttery sunlight.
Shadows begin their mysterious, meticulous
March across flowers and shrubbery
As they lengthen and deepen closer to the ground.
Standing at my open study window,
I can feel the struggling, waning sun
Slanting softly across my face
As it caressingly bids me a reluctant au revoir.
A palpable silence descends and seems to reign for a moment.
The very air outside appears to shimmer, almost to vibrate,
As if alive with a joyful, youthful exuberance
Too frenetic to be contained.
Through the open casement a renegade breeze steals craftily in,
Brushes my cheeks with cool tantalizing fingers,
And brings with it the seductively heady perfume of a burgeoning earth.
My body strains to embrace
And merge with this welcome newness
As the random thought occurs to me that people are like the spring.
Both are from the past and live many lives,
But, unlike the past which is dead,
Something that is over and cannot return
Except in memory,
People, like the earth each spring,
Reawaken, reinvent themselves and move on.
I, too, feel alive, joyous, youthful and exuberant
As this notion, like the sheer curtains at my window,
Is caught by that cunning, inveigling breeze
And flutters out again like a capricious spirit escaping.
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