to hold firm the brilliant current of a new day ; the gargantuan, wide breath of a crocus piercing grey with indigo ; the elegant wind of an air that begins to stir with scent, the always promise of a new season
there is a radiant hum that accompanies the first spring air to blow through a midnight window, something unearthed in the frozen smells unfurling themselves into the body of the atmosphere, the seamless gaze of the moon upon the dip and swell of the night-clouds ; and in the morning, the buds approaching the sky like small rockets about to burst, the grass tiptoeing towards green, golden eyelids of dotted, tiny flowers and the palest green you have ever placed a hand upon; the swarm of any-something, bursting out of any sidewalk clump of concrete, reaching towards the chandelier of light in the sky; from the rooted blackness ; the silent fingers of small, unfathomable creations, transformers of star-light; freckled mulch and bundled birch, wild cabbage in the wet soil, ferns in pre-historic spiral rolling towards the atmosphere
then comes the rotor of the train ; purple scraping sounds along the highway of birdsong, the two congruous, a humming complement ; by late april, the whole of the atmosphere is a body now, full of song and scent, a fullness of which your body moves through, in tandem ; everything alive, especially the air ; especially the eyes of berries, the plumb of bird tufts, the owl hoot which speaks to the train honk, the beebuzz of car tires bursting to some destination ; by late april the tendrils have pulled their limbs towards the sky ; curled out towards luminous light green, the most tender wish of chlorophyll ; and as every color pulls itself into existence again, from some woven pallette our eyes know how to recognize, the air too, breathes itself awake, and begins to dance, in hum and in longing