8May/11Off
Spring and all
I have written a fair number of anti-spring poems, and no pro-spring poems that I can recall. Today is a beautiful day, and I realized: my spring poems are not entirely posing. Spring leaves me unmoved, and I don't know why. I don't hate it, as I do summer (because of the heat), but -- flowers aside -- I don't find it beautiful. I love fall days, whether sunny or rainy. Winter moves me to joy, with or without snow. But spring doesn't speak to me at all. What's wrong with me?
