Spring, Born Again

A golden afternoon Releases the sun’s colourupon the trees, The ground, the people. A crisp air still filters through my lungs, Pulling the hair up on my arms. These are the remains of a suffocating winter. A few light clouds Uphold a pale blue sky Painted above The waking pine trees The quiet towns The stretching hay fields The lonely kid Walking the town’s streets Alone again. As the snow retreats In its evaporation Green leaves Burst from among The branches As a new season Finds warmth in nature’s womb.