Wintershed.

With Augusts end I can almost taste the sweet tease of spring.
Like old underpants elastic, winter has been washed and worn till its end. Now, it loosens its once snug fit and begins to slip….slowly at first, but with the sensed certainty of a full reveal.
I feel it as I walk barefoot across  the dawn-lit silver clover.
Spring opens new space to the heart.  And the balls.

The sun is waking earlier now. Light streams in as I fix my oats to ignite the swirling steam. Beyond, the skeletal trees wait patiently for the first cue to burst with flesh.

Later, bag over shoulder, out behind the garage, I note that I no longer need to set Thumpers grip heaters to high in order to keep my fingers defrosted enough to undo my helmet when I arrive at work.
And the seat is warm as I straddle it. And I smell honeysuckle on the air once more.

For a short while these small things come to mind. For in a few precious weeks,  winter  will be well shed, and such amazement’s will be diluted by hot sweaty nights and grasshopper drone.