Springtime for Umstead and The Triangle

Walking trail in morning light,

Spring lost itself in leaves.

Trees woke up

from winter sleep,

the latest fashions

in buds and blooms

of yellow poplar,

white mountain laurel,

pink rhotodendron hung on cliffs,

and canopies

high above

and far beyond,

obscuring view

for to see feet and

forest fabric.

Noises of busy birds,

young squirrels prancing

in Fall's remnants,

longer days,

and warmer weather,

sweat long forgotten

reluctantly rediscovered.

A perfect background for focusing

not on what is out there

but in here,

pushing one into itself

in cleansing colors

and smells.

A house more human

than humans inhabit,

the season brings life

to souls separated by cold

and frozen through by

the sleet of suburbia,

the greed and garbage

of ubiquitous urban usperpation.

Friends reconnect

among red maple wallpaper,

sweetgum ceilings,

and carpets of pine.

A single flower

from a creekside Laurel,

white serrated cups

streaked and speckled purple

in clusters upon bunches,

remind us of hidden potential,

the cycles of time,

the promises of seasons,

and that life comes again.