Sometime between lift-off and re-entry, the biosphere transformed completely. Brown flashed into green. Dry nubs exploded into pinks and heady whites. The distant roar of the gas mower was on every playlist. Welcome to the two minute spring.
It must have been utter torture for the house cat, trapped on the wrong side of the picture window, watching the world being reborn in a flutter of baby bird wings.
Suddenly, there is no inside or outside. There is just barefoot time and not barefoot time. The evening is stilled by the seductive undulation of the old-fashioned sprinkler, kissing the grass so gently.
Hypnotizing me. So that all I want is to roll in the grass until I come to rest under the pin-cherry tree. I stare at its obscene pinkness until my eyes ache.