Record-breaking, says the paper.
Hasn’t been 80 degrees on April 24 in 55 years.
Lush green growth everywhere,
Songs of wrens and blackbirds on the breeze.
Sitting on the front stoop after dinner,
Enjoying a popsicle with my son.
He stands behind me, enjoying the feeling of tallness.
“Mom,” he says, eyes glinting,
Mouth ringed in purple.
“Hey, Mom –
Some of your hair is turning white.”
So go the cycles;
His spring wheeling through my fall.