Three or four cells in me were hanging on to a memory of spring and this morning they were joined by a whole humming collection. I could feel the florescence.
The temperature had turned overnight and stepping out into the slush this morning I could actually smell a breeze from early April. Wether it came from the past of future I don’t know. What matters is that it came with a wisp of promise.
I forget how much my body is tied to the earth. Where have you gone Walt Whitman, John Muir, Henry Thoreau, Rachel Carson? (Please send more light.)
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