Cool air, sky blue and white
clouds, a hint of gray on their undersides.
I have returned to grass to cut,
plants to plant in the box garden.
Amazed at how the body shivers at the end
of May what would be ignored in December.
I am a creature who knows the touch of nature,
who gets accustomed to the weather,
who is surprised when the end of May does not
feel like the beginning of June.
I think how easily I make expectations,
how often they’re not met
how I am to hold what I am given
nothing more, nothing less.
-Byron Hoot
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