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.