Scent of hawthorn in bloom pervades all,
connects me to all yesterday’s springs,
reacquaints me with gratitude for winter’s release -
olfactory equivalent of birdsong – chirrups
and cheeps echo and repeat. The whirr-whirr
of insects on wing or emitting from the riverbank
below this bridge where I clasp
the rail behind me, bold edge sharp in my palm;
paint and rust flake and fall. I stretch forward,
squeeze my shoulder blades towards one another.
Sun warms my face. Breeze lifts my hair,
cools my neck and I thrill
at the rustling abundance in the trees.