Spring’s chartreuse rises like ground fog and the ancient tree responds yet again.
Lilliputian vines entrap this Gulliver, so full of movement and desire. One fine morning it will break free, go striding down the lane.
When skin tags multiply, wear them proudly; just don’t spend much time naked, gazing in a three-way mirror.
Promise of the stream-bed irises. In two weeks, their orchid-like pennants will wave yellow and purple.
A month ago, the wild blueberry bushes were dead sticks. When I start to feel like a dead stick, all I have to do is go look at these beauties, trail my hands though the soft green, bury my face in their fresh life, and run back to the house like a kid full of yearning and promise.