It’s difficult to write to any beat
except the warming weather. Atmosphere
is balm and tonic, throat-caressing, sweet,
while groundward furling fronds and flowers spear
the air with color, wear the morning dew
of March with new erection, natal green.
In expectation spring obscures the view
of squalor; all around is new and clean.

I say this weather makes me know, today,
that I have only blessings, bless my eyes.
This beauty almost takes my breath away.
I’m naturally astounded at what lies
around, mundane, and where the breeze bestows
massage, and how it feels to free my toes.