Today’s rain washed away most 
       of the evidence of winter.
The water has spilled over the river’s banks
       but is receding.
                                    The air is fragrant
       with the change of season.
       Maybe it is because the dust has settled for a bit
       but I could smell spring as I walked the streets.
At one point, this afternoon, it was like nighttime
       in the middle of the day,
                                     the windshield wipers kept time
       to the rhythm of life.
This evening, however, just after the sun had
       disappeared altogether, low-lying clouds 
       hovered just above
       and in patches.
Stars shone through the clouds
       like freckles on a lover’s skin, peeking out of the 
       crisp sheets.
                              Spring brings optimism
       and hope.
You hear people on the streets again,
       they too are pleased.
       Just wait for summer.
                             I can feel peace,
                                                            can you?

© 2006 j.g. lewis

Image: Wet Prairies
Artist: Steve Repa – 1977

Almost 20 years ago, in a journal, I wrote this for my daughter. The early spring of then
evades us now; perhaps soon. Seasons may change, but poetry remains, as does optimism and hope.