A Kinder Scent Of Coming Spring

When snails shed their shyness
their homeless cousins timid still
Spiders invite themselves in for tea
their gifted lattice weave drapes the old TV

When the fog’s faces don’t illicit fear
Cheeks pressed up against the clear pane
harmless degenerates placing bets on droplets
skiing down the open window slope

When countryside thunder forgets itself
clapping as spectator with no command
Pulling clouds over its head to sleep
drifting away so all may nap

When the monsoon storm refuses to rage
grants permission for its yawns to wander free
The playful young gales swing through the racks
knowing they can’t afford any hanging dresses

Nothing happens in the in-between
Relax those fangs but purse your lips
quietly breathe and willfully surrender
to a kinder scent of coming spring