MIST

A delicate mist of green
abounds over my path along the river.
Baby buds, minute blurs,
one next to the other
like dim watercolor spatters
created with a toothbrush.

The very first indications of spring
for those whose appreciation
allows them cognizance.
The fragile mists will change daily.
They will become larger speckles
and their heady aroma will excite my senses.

I am new birth, like the infantile green.
I am renewed and growing each day.
Nature keeps me aware of myself,
my steps and degrees.
Nature takes hold of our lives
and flows with our intensities.