it is a spring day too beautiful for words

we are on the patio

the soft breeze and dry air

brings to mind memories of springs past

i ask colin’s grandfather what memories are awakened 

by such a day as this   i do not ask

in quite such a stilted fashion   he is quiet by nature

more so with age   he is quiet now

then   baseball   he says   hint of a smile   faraway gaze 

the sounds   the grace of it   he elaborates   

i cannot write it   he says it in his way   

in his words  thoughtfully   he ranges free and wide   

he talks of laying out the rows that first spring   

of planting vines   

he is floating   free-associating   unused to airing his thoughts

then he surpises me   and you   he asks 

it is unlike him to seek the sharing of thoughts 

i am not reticent   

i wax poetic about the earth   fragrant and poised   after winter

of sensations induced and released

of going without coat and hat and gloves and boots 

unencumbered   light   free 

i talk of tulips in lincoln park yet to bloom   of playground sounds

of kids running   chasing   an idyll   mine     

i put words to images as best i can

knowing that i can say nothing that he does not know   

and then   enough   i hush   

send my final words skittering over the golden hills

it is a spring day too beautiful for words   we are on the patio

the soft breeze and dry air

brings to mind memories of springs past

and reminds us to rise   to carry on   sally forth