Is Spring Really Here? by: Nicole Busch

Is Spring Really Here?

By: Nicole Busch

As I stand there and look out into the distance,

cars blur by, birds swarm so high,

I look up and there is not one tiny cloud to be found in the light blue sky.

The light breeze moves strands of my hair back and forth across my face,

with it being not warm, but not cold; almost perfect enough to wear a light jacket,

and you will feel just fine.

People walking by me,

they walk their nosy dogs, sniffing for gold.

They stop and mosey their way around the freshly bloomed white and yellow rainbow colored flowers,

making an appearance for spring time, and maybe staying for summer.

The big forest- like trees, so out of place in this meadow, yet

so unique, it makes sense.

The leaves, glisten, almost like they are green crystals, sparkling in the light.

The smell of the fresh-cut grass rings a sense of familiarity to my nose,

though that sense being quite foreign at this stage.

0ne little bird fly’s

close to my head, straight to a rooftop.

While another, in the opposite direction,

Fly’s straight to a treetop.

Now I face one-eighty away, towards a dark and luminous road,

with little pink pops of color,

the flowers sprung up here and there, taunting us to come forward,

and relieve them to spring fully.

The rock wall barricading winter into close quarters, not letting it escape again,

or is it not letting spring emerge?

The hint of color, on the green grassy island,

the many houses with brown picked fences,

the cars.

Parked and still in time,

not sure if to move forward, or fall backward and stay standing still.

You look up and close your eyes for a split second,

the daydream sky, clouds of different shapes,

dogs,

cats,

bunnies,

even a dragon,

for those whose imagination runs wild.

You see a stream of jet, shoot across the sky,

in a almost perfect line,

why does everything have to be so perfect in life?

Down to one house now,

by a little pond,

and a basketball hoop.

Tiny birds flying in a clique in the air,

a busy bee flying in the tall blades of

sword-like grass,

protecting themselves with their stinger of power.

Different bird calls,

some hopping from branch to branch,

other just sit around and chant.

The smell of fresh dirt,

and some morning dew on afternoon grass,

small bugs land on your hands.

Is spring really here?