Wrathful Spring
Wrathful spirit, be still. Waves of yellow pollen rippling on the wind, be done with your lusty exercise. I threw open the windows and welcomed you in, dear spring, so lovingly, as a friend, but you’ve come with vengeance in your heart. The snowmelt and sunshine embolden you. You push against balance, away from center, unwholesome in your zeal.
City forefathers planted the pines along the streets, thinking they could rule the earth, selecting only male trees to prevent them from propagating as nature dictates. I never knew those so-called planners. My innocent wheezing kitten was born long after their time. We suffer the decisions they made brashly, without humility, thinking themselves wiser than you and all of your kin.
They didn’t consider the four seasons or the four winds, or even me and my asthmatic kitten. They, no doubt, thought about paychecks, promotions, and budgetary considerations. Perhaps they sent their children to private schools with the wages they earned by placing trees as if trees were merely scenery rather than living members of the community themselves. Now, spring, you’ve come to my house enflamed. My head bends in helpless sorrow.
I would be grateful if you could like this post or subscribe to Jellied Gold. I publish three paragraphs once weekly, and reading is always free. If you feel moved to do so, you can buy me a coffee. And if you haven’t already…
Peyton, the visual here powerfully matches your poem - I can feel it through and through. 💥