May hangs on the wall past its midway point already. Past the shoddy paper, past the chipped old paint, past the red-clay bricks— there, all dressed up, Spring marches on; she gambols & jigs while bees court weeds and buds shamelessly flirt with the sun, and May, too late for the ball, lags behind April’s sorry sheet that tilts precariously and reeks of musty days & sticky weeks.
These spring months make promises they do not keep. Soaked in winter feelings, casting the odd enticement then sulking again in coolness. Up here anyway. Bring on the full brass band of summer. I want to be deafened by the sun.
Mixed-feelings salad. Me too. But my April weather is charmed away by your poetry, Fotini, Past the shoddy paper, past the chipped old paint, to finer places where the paper and paint are beautiful in their shoddy chippedness :)
May gray, June gloom .
Mantra melody.
Weeds are delicious in salads. Extra nutrition. Watch garden grow strong July heat comes quick and August melts too long for fall leaves harvest.