The senses sense

In the winter I’d come home from work, fix food, and go to bed.

These days I stay up later. I’ll have a tea and take a walk in the yard or around the block—depending on the moonlight. The blood flows faster. The senses sense. Spring.

I cup the cup of hot tea and listen—wind ruffling the top of the pines.

The ground is still cold, mossy wet but there’s something there—a hidden green.