The loquat buds are ready to greet their buzzing partners
and the crows have taken over the birdsong symphony
A sheath of grey pink cloud hovers over the bright white sunrise
Remnants from last night’s rush of spring rain fall from the branches like tears down a round cheek
A scattering of soaked leaves plastered to the ground
The lounge chair moved to view a sunset days ago
For a moment time holds still
No work to bind
no nagging unfolded
frustration at bay
A bud of hope in this heart
that I may again relish the sunset with you
and awake in your embrace
on the crest of a slow-moving sunrise.
I wrote this a month ago. But it seems silly to leave it in my drafts section. I hope you enjoy and take/feel something from it. How do you feel this spring?
Busted Flip Flops 