A thousand pieces of a thousand petals,
drifting on the breeze
like ashes from the fires.
As if it were summer,
those hot days at the river,
and I can press the petals on my skin
like pages of my favorite novel.
Instead it is nearly spring,
the winter dewing and wetting the tall grasses.
I can feel the maiden season dripping over my roof,
her blushing cheeks the pink new sky.
Brave blossoms are budding,
daring the bitter winter wind still blowing.
The sun only now peeks its sheepish face
around the corners of the clouds.
It is time for newness,
for change and rebirth,
for the old to feel young again.
It is time for the sweetness of life to return,
for the warmth to kiss away the cold.
It is a new season for lovers,
for those flushed winter faces to be replaced
by freckles and drops of sunlight.
I sweep the front step,
climb the nearest tree to sing,
gather up all those past transgressions and offer them up
like flowers
to a God that smiles.
I sew new buttons on my old good shirt,
pressing the simple cotton to my lips.
In short,
these are the days of life.
These are the hours of life.
These are the minutes and moments of life.
I shall take them and say Good Morning.
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