Southern Spring

A Thursday afternoon,

God's pitcher poured out.

Wet leaves tracked inside

As yellow pollen rivers flow

Down the drive, down the gutter.

Into the sewer, you'd like to think.

~

Friday morning sunshine and humid fog,

Steam rises from down the road

Like dried waves, pollen lines the street.

Two months minimum, March starts it all,

Quite the sight to see.

~

Saturday night, the chill of winter returns,

Crystals on puffs of pinks and purples and whites.

Still, weeks of fragranced beauty

Bloomed around a vacant mailbox

Home to Black Widow and Brown Recluse.

~

Sunday prayers whispered under

Early morning rays and the knowledge of

The oppressive heat of summer 'round the corner .

Next week, ninety degrees and a hundred percent humidity.

Growing pains of the season's change.