The contrast catches an eye: a ruffled mass of pink against a crisp March morning sky.
Under it I stand, in the school courtyard, surrounded by painted brick, corrugated metal, and the red padlocks, neatly rowed along the lockers.
Painter's tape holds up a torn poster, announcing a meeting of the senior class: April 1st.
It's trumpet-shaped flowers rustle and fall in an animating breeze.
Paths, brown dirt, cut through the grass and by the recycle can, evidence of where students opted to stray from a concrete path laid out for them.
Buds of its three siblings are still locked in winter. All have not eaten since the autumn; their leaves retreated long ago.
But what of this one, hearing first the call of spring? It ventures a pink coat of blossom 'fore wearing its green
Bumblebees lumber from bloom to bloom. When sated here, they will move on, hoping
that another has risked a pink coat of blossom
IN
March 28th, 2009
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