Spring

the smell of spring wind over wet earth, rushes into my lungs
on the slick rock I slide the moss, gritty and
smooth with my thumb
I greet the sudden change of season like a photograph of my brothers as children
remembering how we were then, and smiling
i greet the cool thrust of that unique spring air
like an old friend at a familiar bar
I swear it comes from a specific place,
waiting for the arrival of this moment to return here
celebrating itself with gusts and swirls until settling into a warm and inviting night.
And now i sleep in spring
and spring's air sleeps from my bed to the top of the sky.
-patrick walsh