The bank clocks says it's seventy degrees
Outside. And water drips and spreads as vast
And dirty banks of snow melt (they'll refreeze
Again; it's only March) become the mud
That marks the season. Spring break in the park
With my friend Bonnie, a stir in my blood
Arose as kites flew overhead. A stark
And vivid contrast to how I have spent
Such afternoons of late, huddled and cold,
A bikeskimo in layers of clothes and bent
Close to the handlebars, windswept yet bold.
Now ease and sunlight mean I have to share
The greenway with more folks, but I don't care!