Poetry

I Will Dream of Winter

I know that I will curse the sun,
and I will tire of the light,
the dampness and humidity
will be all that I can bear,
and I will dream of winter.

But for now I will delight in
the first fine day of spring.
Blue sky and a hot car, windows down,
top open and wild hair,
the first trickle of sweat.

Anxious for fresh picked tomatoes,
just shucked corn, and blueberries
picked by the side of a dirt road,
the cawing gulls that follow
the days catch, the night’s dinner.

Smell the basil in the garden
the scent of pine on a hot breeze
honeysuckle rides the wind
everywhere summer abounds,
and I will dream of winter.

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