Patiently the pulse of spring rose above the required season’s sleep unbound and potent in its pure potentiality.

Like poetry in wine, it deliciously drenched the slumbering inhibitions of unforgotten life,

and all that drank from its memory blossomed deliriously in detail and wondrous beauty.

Oh the sweetness of patience and peace; oh the beauty of past and present; and oh the ecstasy of life unending.

(c) 2004 Jeanne Bonine