For the first time this year I dragged out the old blanket and spread it on the grass. Dozed with my head on my arm, the sun warm enough to make me shed a layer. Oh boy my soul needed that sweet touch. And I dozed to the buzzing of bees in the gold and purple crocuses.
At dusk I stood on the lawn and felt air move against my skin. Not the numbing cold that freezes tears in your eyes. But an air scented with earth.
My son pointed out the sliver of waxing moon hanging between silhouetted tree branches, delicate as lace mantillas.
The moon siren, and the faint pulse coursing through the soil seduced the tree frogs out of hiding to call in lusty peeps from the unfrozen pond.
And now, against the darkness of a spring night A moth drives it’s wings against my window Oh so eager to step inside and make mad passionate love to my lamp.
Very nice. The last verse made me smile just imagining the moth and its frustration.
Thanks. Yes, I felt bad for the poor moth. Hopefully it found its true love.
Dear Liss, I love your quiet poem of awakening Spring.
Here’s to basking on Summer blankets! Ex
Thanks, Em. Wish I could see your garden. I’m sure spring is in full throttle in London .
I love the explanation of “eejit”–seems like something I could use here in Tennessee.
I’d love to hear what name you’d think up for an eejit down in Tennessee!