Spring has overcome the dim days of April. I wake in the morning light, sure I've overslept, to find that it's still early. I haven't written in months, here or elsewhere. 30/30 drained me and there was nothing in the bleak months to speak of. But now the black days of winter all are through; life returns with the blossoms. I don't often post my own poetry; I don't often post here at all anymore. But here's a poem for the day, dear reader, something to break the silence between us.
MARGINAL NOTES FROM A BOOK OF HORACE
Let your hair down before you pull it back again. Time passes like a river,
carries us to death’s great Atlantic. But for now, we have these days
of pretty insobriety –– pleasure boating, wine, and walks in the orchard.
Raise your cup to the dusking light. Life isn’t always vernal flowers
and the pink moons of spring. But sometimes it is.