This is an ugly time of
year, at least for now. The snow melts and reveals everything we left behind at
the last change of seasons: The perennials you forgot to deadhead, the
Christmas banner fallen off and sodden, the windchimes knocked down one blustery
night.
This is not the mudluscious
Just-spring of cummings. The snow lost any romance it had last week, abandoned
on the side of the road like ancient jalopies not worth fixing because they’re
just going to rust away. Snow goes gray on the shoulder like septic skin. The
grass is matted down like hairspray defeated by a hat.
This is the world awakening
like a fallen-asleep limb. It’s painful and uncomfortable but not for too long
and then sensation returns. Then we will get the color back, every shade of red
and violet and gold. It’s coming soon. It’s never not.
No comments:
Post a Comment