Spring Cleaning

While mopping the melted snow of winter. I remember when I got a splinter. My expression cringing. My finger twinging. But still I reminisce. Of the fireplace’s caress. While dusting the places usually never seen. I remember being- Next to a draft. Feeling bereft. Wishing for spring. Not seeing- Flowers that bloom. Feeling like I’m in a tomb. But nowadays I slip from my mopping. Dust flying and never stopping. I miss being lazy. Even when it was hazy. But then I open a window. And love for spring rekindles. Soon summer will come around. Then I’ll miss the smell of spring that abounds.