#1403-First

It’s Spring.

Birds chirp before dawn.

The sun awakens, yawns,

Stretches, smiles.

What colors to paint today...

Silence hides behind the breeze.

A lone hawk dances

In a pale orange haze.

Others look on, overwhelmed.

Memories return, of days

With her, holding hands,

In blooming orange orchards.

Intoxicating scents,

Innocent touches,

Held breaths.

When Spring’s first green,

Was still within reach.