13 days and counting

I walk slowly along the sandy shoreline in forty degree sunshine.

To my right, two silver suited snowmobilers whiz by in pools of slushy ice.

To my left, a candy red convertible speeds past with the top down.

The gray haired driver in his glory, now revealed.

I travel north another block.

I discover the blue and pink Easter egg display, shining brightly in front of the florist’s shop.

Yet I see the flaking green and red Christmas lights have lost their sheen on the pine trees in front of the old train depot.

I pull up the hood on my dirty winter parka as two slender young girls stroll by in their new plaid shorts. The wind has picked up.

I’m overdressed, and they’re underdressed, but will never admit it at fifteen.

Returning home, I spot the reappearance of lawn chairs dotting many driveways.

And I notice the brittle and brown Christmas wreaths still hanging on display are now begging to be removed.

I’m tempted to help the aging wreaths out, but I resist.

Instead, I plant red and yellow silk tulips in a clay pot for my front step.

I pull out a lawn chair.

And I sit.

Smiling, just listening to the melody of melting snow.


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