Houston springs are tender. There’s just no other word for them. Soft days and soft nights. Coming brutal humidity and heat remain last summer’s dream. I think I become emotional and tender myself because I know what’s around the corner. But for now, it’s spring. Pink tulip trees and redbuds have been the first to announce blooming time. The sweet color of their blossoms is impossible to describe: amethyst in which rose had been swirled. Azaleas and bridal wreath follow. Trees bud and leaf, and in a month Houston will be a cloud of green from the sky. Here’s what Houston’s soft spring does to me:
gardeners are busybodies
always peering out their windows
at the roses to demand:
have they bloomed yet?
cream edged in coral
I steal indescriminately
my neighbor’s roses
magnolia blossoms
open tight buds to reveal
deep creamy faces
what do butterflies
think when they race? does it
matter who wins?
