spring.

spring is not a time for writing.
a time of new beginnings never is.
there are no shadows or falling leaves to expectorate about.
long drags from cigarettes fill warmed lungs.
exhaled in clouds wide enough to outline the new sky.
when the possibilities are endless.
eyes seep grand summer expectations.
hands busy themselves.
snapped back to life.
the rising temperatures thaw circulation.
stretching towards the sky, we realize we can grasp it.
the world is full of new life.
no hours for reflections about the meaning of time, space, direction.
just enough to longboard the neighborhoods.
letting the air kiss your face in anticipation of summer loves.
the preparations can now be made.
pull out the fire wood and clean out the car.
the roads and railways are about to open.
streaming with humanity in motion they go on.
clipping the horizon while constructing new landscapes.
hands will be held as breath stales in the lungs.
the parks and promenades slowly teem with anticipation.
in a month they will have constant company.
hundreds of starry eyed lovers walking hand in hand under the leaves.
the rivers rise in anticipation.
finally freed from the ice flow captivity.
as we watch the world around us, we know.
we finally grasp that the long winter is over.
no, spring is not a time for writing.
the time is now for all the dreams we dreamt in candle light.
under self-warming blankets on the darkest days of the year.
so throw off the sheets.
we can once again live the lives we dream.