It is official now, not for the birds on the train platform, my sudden need to write in this place and burn all my papers, or for the light, new quality to the chill in the air, but because I dug out my very special sunglasses. Time to put away the fuzz bucket hat, I think. Maybe this shortened weekend I will drink honey wine and cut out paper flowers, shove my heavier clothes back into the closet, and
and
something

Spring is great but it sure ain't summer and round here it summer's the new spring anyway