mid-may, and the nights are chilled

the mornings shine with a bright blue sky, air full of crisp hope and green smells

and afternoons warming to unfurl leaves and grasses and buds and flowers and the soul

but evenings, oh evenings, with the gloaming stretching long with birdsong and frogpeeps, dew-laden grass tickling at the toes and freshness in the nose

the moment brief each year, but belief that lilacs and apple blossoms will appear

pulls us through our winter months

to smile at the green hope that’s here