Different. Spring.

Ephemera

The different world

I can’t help but think that the world is different every time that the spring arrives. Yesterday was blazingly hot — though it’s only spring and the heat was only about 83 degrees. Quite sufficient enough heat to cause all of the blooming trees to bloom. I had not even noticed that their buds were ready but our street’s intersection is ablaze (is that the right word?) with forsythia bushes.

A flood of words is incipient, wants to burst forth. And then I remember that this sounds so very pompous and can only assume that the wordy parts of my imagination have been hibernating all winter and are a bit rusty now. Must practice with lots of bloviating posts until I get the hang of this writing for posts. For immediate publication.

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The Author

I read and I write and I think. I survive.