I wrote this about a month ago when I was out pruning the fruit trees on an unusually warm day for February. I am yearning for summer.
Yearning for Summer
the smell of shredded tires
engulfs my senses
as the hot sun blazes into it
the crackling of the depleted wood playground
threatens to crumble onto the
incessantly squeaking yellow swings
that continuously push through the thick hot air
chewed up toys
carelessly strewn about
craving attention
that only comes in the sun
tired brown grass
thirsty for some color
only the heat of the sun can bring
ready to shed the sparkling blanket
that traps the chill above
crocus shoots
prematurely pushing through
still frozen soil
desperately searching out the giver
that’s still 2 months away
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