The dial turned and spring has budded. There are the perfect days here in this state. In a moment of stillness, warm air spins through your bones and reaches your core. It only seems to happen once a year.
We plant flowers and then some grow on their own. We make ice to cool our drinks, when there is none to be found. We speak to communicate because we feel the need to understand and record. Music plays and we find a rhythm to the steps we take to get to our destination. We once must have sat together to sing as one previously.
Gray skies with clouds touch the sun and dim the light. But we know it is still there. The arc follows the normal cycle and the clouds seperate showing the beams. The week was long and careless, one that just seemed to pass. So much was accomplished with so many small wonders, but nothing of grandeur with excitement.
Taking a deep breath to catch up, shutting down is a way to end this cycle. But so is picking it up and continuing on full speed.