When I was younger--
(and if I traveled
in the spring)
I would sometimes shun a stop
if it were but to see some odd landmark
or mysterious marker
"off the beaten path."
Shun the stop, that is,
If winter's bite still held the air.

When I was younger--
I wanted my spring
fast and hot.
Let its prelude be brief, if sacred; and
play no overture at all if something less.

A splash of yellow flowers, yellow bushes
buds on the branches
--a day or so is ample--
And finally--
Finally?
--the pass to long days
of shimmering heat waves rising,
while tall grasses sigh and glow
in newborn sheen
under full-gold sunlight.
A "cold snap" in the foreground of such glory?
How should it foster anything gracious and tolerant?

But I am older now,
I will stop for such a sight
(if I travel in the spring.)
I will leave the dry, blowing artificial heat
inside my car.

I get out.
I shiver, and I look.
For some things along the way catch my fancy,
even when spring has its snow on.

I am not old yet,
but I am old enough to wear this wisdom:
heat looses its freshness, quickly
and novelty reverts. Then what?
Another year before another visit.
So I--like everyone--still sigh and raise closed eyes to that first warm breeze, but--
I rarely grieve the return of a chill wind.

When this life's alluring changes
prove more of the past than of the future,

In this place, an early flirtation with deep spring:
It is a good thing made better
by a later underscoring.