what is it about spring

It's spring again.
As if there weren't enough poems, sonnets, songs, psalms and reflections on the sides of tea boxes written about it.
But it does stir my feeble word bank-
It is a remarkable thing no matter how often it happens.
The green creeps slowly up the side of my backyard mountain
until it begins to look like a burly farmboy
who rose early and has only one strap of his overalls fastened
as the other dangles behind him
waiting to be employed-
The wisteria and honeysuckle leap from the ground to send explosions of color
like pastel fireworks in a sky of barren branches
the live embers land as daffodils and tulips on the ground.
Once again I realize we won't forever be kept in the cold and dark
like my unused onion bulbs in the back of the refrigerator crisper
if we can make it another few weeks and soak in the drizzle and withstand the cool wind
then we will feel the warmth and the sun, and even start to complain about the humidity.
I can see the chance for renewal and rebirth, even if I can't find those wild asparagus patches-
and I am reminded that God still likes us.