This is how you write about spring, people. Gotta love the Bard.
The eastern sky was vivid scarlet
this morning as I started pedaling,
head lowered into a strong wind.
By the time I rounded the curve
at Coles Creek, it had faded to gray,
low clouds in heavy layers of foreboding.
Another late season snow is on the way
but the unseen sun above the clouds
traces a higher arc every day and I feel
Spring rising in me, each day a little higher,
even as the winds stir the leafless trees
and still we are waiting for the cranes.