The air smells divine
I am outside
Reading in the square against a backdrop of multilingual chatter, medical school students practising multi-syllabic terminology, and the rhythm of water flowing down the stepped landscaping.
A distant airplane, the screech of tires and engine rumble, bicycle clicking.
The warm air is punctuated by a breeze,
pushing,
retreating suddenly,
twirling then releasing my long hair.
Flowers and leaves not here last week flourish next to trees just budding out.
I think I desire ice cream.
Away for the warm weekend,
I returned home,
peeked outside and a joyful smile
exploded on my face.
Three tulips whose colours were previously unknown
bloomed in hot pink, hot pink and yellow, hot pink and white
in varying shapes and scents.
“I love them!” I exclaimed.
And across the street, the tree that has always looked beautiful
was topped with a bounty of magnolia blossoms
with more to come as they open in a cascade downward.
The willow is greener from afar, its tiny fledgling leaves glowing in the sun.
A forsythia I never knew was there reaches for the sky.
I wait for the other trees outside to leaf out.
Is that a pea sprouting in my garden?
Garlic scapes grown taller while I was gone.
My first spring in my new home
delivers me all kinds of sweet surprises.
I’m attempting to participate in NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month.
I know it’s spring
when the air is fragrant —
cherry blossoms and ocean breeze,
freshly cut grass,
plants breathing
the sun seems to have sprung
higher in the sky.
those little unknown seedlings that over time will take shape,
slowly growing and unfolding into — ah! — whatever they become.
home smells new, with the
scent of warmth and life.
short sleeves and bare feet,
soles dirty from the grass and garden.
shadows, still long, appear for a longer day.
it’s time to put toques and scarves away.
(at least on the West Coast.)
winter has passed the torch of time to spring,
to light up the daffodils, tulips and magnolia,
the hyacinth, camellia and forsythia,
and others the sun is still beckoning.
I’m attempting to participate in NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month.
