Spring Equinox 2013 - a reading (on YouTube)
In the springtide of the year as the trees are raining leaves, the oaks are crowned with a tonsure of amber, the pines with a halo of gold. With every gust of spring, clouds of pollen billow like swarms of wasp-colored midges rising to search the land for prey.
In the springtide of the year as the trees are raining leaves, the oaks are crowned with a tonsure of amber, the pines with a halo of gold. With every gust of spring, clouds of pollen billow like swarms of wasp-colored midges rising to search the land for prey.
With each stir of wind, dried oak leaves flutter to the
ground, sparkling and scattering like glitter suspended in the morning breeze. Flurries
of oak flowers descend, forming drifts across the cobblestones like ropes of
dirty snow. They swirl in the spring air before settling in brown drifts with a
dusting of gold that accumulates on the walk and lawn. Men pile leaves so rich
with pollen they smoke sulphurously as though their rakes were pitchforks
wielded by a host of minor demons.
Each night, the whippoorwills
melt a little farther from the window. Feet fade to miles until nothing is
heard of their once powerful cries. We are tempted to mourn their loss, yet change
is as inevitable as butterflies emerging from their silky winter life jackets
to float away in spring.
© 2013 Edward P. Morgan III