I Am Spring

October.
The time of heat and drought is ending.
Temperamental bouts of rain are near.
In anticipation,
manzanita flower buds are swelling, sagebrush flowers are blooming,
and White-crowned Sparrows are arriving.
Signs of me;
signs of spring.

Elsewhere,
dead of winter beckons,
flowers have faded,
leaves turning gold, red, and brown,
and the birds have left for richer land;
my land.
I am spring.

Varied is the land where I thrive,
changing with a turn to the south,
the interweaving branches unclasp
a bit,
exposing more of the ground
below
to the drying sun.
Turning northward,
the branches embrace themselves more tightly,
protecting moisture in the ground
below
with cooling shade.
And so, the multitudes, the diversity of life is enriched,
as habitat varies so many times,
so many places,
across the varied landscape where I thrive.
I am spring.

Chaparral broom boys, and chaparral broom girls,
emerging too.
In a month or two,
the fluffy flying pappus
of the girls
will dust the breezy air,
some blown so far away, others swirl on the ground,
tossed about like cotton candy,
caught between sticks and leaves,
like crystalized spindrift caught in rocky corners,
sparkling in the sun.

Soon will come,
a green snake twirling out,
a vine soon to sprout.
Tendrils, leaves, and blossoms
of pollen and egg
adjacent, separate,
and spiky, mace-like pods;
all from a tuber, hidden underground,
a wild manroot
filled with stored sunshine.

Temperature cools,
misty mountains whisp,
moist air arrives.
As does the snow,
of un-melting kind.
It forms high above, amongst the green,
released when spent,
falling to the ground,
a floral snow;
chaparral snow.

The green will be everywhere,
come January.
A bit more time,
blues mimic the sky,
covering the hills,
a colorful conclusion to what I reap.
And elsewhere?
Elsewhere looks around awaiting,
April showers to bring May flowers.
Why wait?
Cool, rainy days bring February bouquets.

By May,
or near abouts,
I am done.
So many flowers spent.
The last rain drop has long since past.
The sparrows are gone as well.
By June,
the plants are done,
and autumn begins.
Leaves curl, many drop,
buds shut down.
So much brown,
but this is when
botanical talents shine;
to survive so much dry,
for such a long time.

Now all await for October again;
for me.
I am spring.
I am spring in the chaparral.