Tuesday, March 27, 2012


Like some loving, playful puppy, the small teeth of cold revisit the morning after several days of unseemly warmth. But it's too late: The buds are pulsing on the trees and crocuses have shot their wad, licking our faces with springtime abandon. Soon, everything will be house-broken and only the small scars of loving nips will remain.

No comments:

Post a Comment