Spring and Winter

1. Spring

The colors of spring glow in the morning mist. In yards. At the margins of the woods. Along the highway. They blossom and they glow.

The Mexican Plums have burst into white. And the lavender Eastern Redbuds and the deeper, darker magenta-leaning Mexican Redbuds are peaking. The Bradford Pears are beginning to fade, their white flowers eclipsed by new spring green leaves. And tentative pink-blossoming Plums are beginning to appear, saying goodbye to winter, saying hello to spring.

2. Winter

I saw a car parked in the cemetery this morning. Half on the drive. Half on the grass. Amid gravestones and grim cemetery trees standing in the morning mist.

And there was a man walking not far away. He had a hat on his head and a cane in one hand. His back was bent, and his weight was on the cane. He walked slowly, with his face down, but his gaze was forward.

No pears or plums or redbuds bloomed there. No white or lavender or pink or magenta glowed in the mist for that man. He was alone. On his way to say hello, perhaps. And to say goodbye again.

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