At the start of each spring,
I’m reminded of all I forgot.
How she keeps her promise
to return all glowing green
speaking the language
of plentitude and lush.
How the trumpeting force
of forsythia heralds her arrival
until the saccharine scent
of lilacs takes over and fills
the air with Bubblicious fun.
These are the thoughts
that accompany me
as I peddle and huff
my way up the steep ascent
of this stubborn,
stretched-out hill.
I hastily inhale sweet puffs
of apple blossoms
and rising smoke
from backyard fires
coddled by rings of stone.
Momentum takes me towards
the downward arc
of a well-earned descent
and I submit to speed
with wolf-howling delight.
Mouth open, tongue dangling
tasting the flavor of smooth,
insouciant joy like a little one
licking ice cream between fits
of messy giggles.
- Lauren Taub Cohen
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