Folkloric

I've started running again,
like last year at this time,
up and down the quiet side-streets
near my home.

I've run beneath arched tunnelways of
cherry blossoms,
their flowers drifting around me,
not like snow,
but like the petals that they are,
quiet,
breath-hushing,
luminous in their pale pink.

I've heard a bird sing
and I noticed it as if
I had never heard a bird sing before,
awake and excited,
the both of us.

I've watched the daffodils
announce themselves and the season,
gleaming gold,
then fading over the weeks
to ochre,
umber.

I've seen the tulips begin to appear,
their rainbow shades
as bright on days when
the shadowy sky hovers,
rich with rain,
as on days of sun.

I am getting married
in,
about,
a month.

!

(I've felt no desire to share
my wedding planning here,
and that planning
has fairly consumed me
these past several months.
It has been an enjoyable
and inspiring
experience,
much more so
than I ever imagined it would be,
to be honest.)

And as I run my paths,
and watch and listen,
and note the changes,
and marvel at the Spring,
unfurling each day,
I think about how
we will be marrying
at the height of this season
of blooms,
and growth,
and life.