Look, breathe, smell, taste
the air, hear
the quiet mumbling
of constant water tumbling
out the ground and down the stones;
moist is the air,
smelling rich of green,
of sweet nectar countryside smell,
that was frozen in the bitter knives
of winter winds, all water frozen
into pikes. Snow smell
is gone, that snow
melting slowly, cramming
into every particle of the dirt,
water table water balloon bursting,
oozing out of the earth’s every orifice;
the earth has hay fever.
Once more the seasons turn
to a battleground,
winter versus summer,
but watch the lengthening
away the winter,
the cold air,
the snow to bitter meltwater,
the skin with a thousand words,
a thousand thoughts. Cold north winds,
cold and harsh, again, bitter
at defeat, receding
to calm warm winds that carry in Spring
with her lacy petticoats.
Smell her perfume
on the wind;
I was a little surprised to see this post connect with two other posts that I’ve already written: one a NaPost about sunshine, the other about feeling fall, which is the idea of fall and spring being “battleground seasons”. The nights are cold, winter’s time, and the days are warm from summer. The temperatures romp wildly up and down the thermostat until the mercury just stops working because it’s so fed up with having to go up and down so far and so often. One day, the wind blows fierce in one direction, and the next day it blows just as hard in the opposite direction. Again, the “cardinal” seasons are at war.
As I grew up, April always meant “high spring”, a really warm time that quickly blends into summer. A lot of my NaPoWriMo posts from years past are about summer, which I find funny now. When I moved to the Northeast in the summer, I found out quick that the seasons come up and smack you in the face. It’s still a little odd to be someplace where the weather is the first thing you check, not some innocent little thing people don’t usually notice because it’s so nice. But for a poet, it’s wonderful to be in a place where you can walk out your front door and in about fifteen minutes of sensual information, you know how the seasons are.
I also got into the mindset of spring just starting on a single day, the equinox. Very interestingly, I found out that the seasons nearly changed so quickly. Just a couple of weeks ago, we had our last snowstorm (which I cross-country ski-ed on roughly three seconds after it stopped, and it was the best ski I’ve ever done–not that I’ve done too much), and that was it. The next day it was 40 and it rained…and rained…. Suddenly the snow was gone, the grass was green, the temperatures had leaped up to 45, and you could immediately tell it was spring.
Wherever you live, your prompt today is to go outside into your yard or a nearby park and just walk around. Look first; see what color the grass is, and the leaves, if there are any. Then listen; do you hear any spring birds, running water? Touch, next; bend down and put both hands on the earth and just feel it. Smell; throw your head back and breathe in, pollutants and all, seeking for the smell of spring. And taste: what do you imagine that the water, the earth, the leaves, the air all taste like? What do they really taste like? You could pick one and just write about that, or do all and write one long poem. It’s up to you.
Feel the spring. It’s here.