An Ode to the Spring Breeze
By Ali PelczarTo the breeze that smells like dust
As it dances past my skin
That in warmth smells a little
Fuller, when I breathe it in;
To the chill on my fingers
And the left side of my nose
The brush of cold past my ears,
No direction, never slows.
The wind is but tangential,
It’s a friend that’s not quite there,
Racing on to other things
Or to someone else’s hair,
Since it’s a restless being;
It will dance and make trees sing,
Unseen ripple through the grass
And the harbinger of spring.
55 words for spring
By Rosalie ChanThe ice cracked in the dark of the night. Water dripped from the wood like sweat. Pointed green fingers clawed through the wood, forcing the wood to crack aside. They emerged slowly, ripping the inside and pushing the walls out. The wind howled as the green creature quivered, shaking the wooden walls. A bud emerged.
By Jahmeelay Jean-LegerI step outside my dorm and I see little spots of green here and there. The leaves peeking from the ground in determined hellos to the oncoming summer. They’re a little short: no shrinking violet, no flamboyant rosebush either.
I wait a few days, wondering what could emerge from these verdant stalks and I see yellow. Yellow daffodils.
These flowers are perennials. No one had to plant them in their bright canary form. Sometime in the midst of Chiberia, these flowers were waiting patiently, carefully, for their time to shine. Playing possum and pretending that there wasn’t just a hint of life underneath what seemed to be permafrost.
Rebirth. Prosperity and hope. A new beginning. Is it any wonder that these flowers are the first you see when the months are turning?
Glimpses into a world reforming and becoming. Beacons of emerging possibilities.
I think I can look at these signs of revived life forever.