Spring bright. . .
eventide. . .

trusty bike. . .
pumping lungs. . .
flowing blood. . .

something like
a routine ride. . .

Gray damp hangs–
Will clouds soon break
into projected
needed rains?

And, up in mountains,
will the coming storms
bring in
the foreseen
dump of snow–
thick, squeaky white–
on which to ski
it is a dream,
down that high tree lined
terrain?

Meanwhile,
I can see
for certain,

the spring green leaves
and sundry colored blossoms
open,

and do their yearly thing
with the so long-longed-for wet
that feeds their life
and helps them remember
how to thrive
again.