The weather does not always perfectly align with the changes in season. And, in Texas, those seasonal highs and lows are often very dramatic. That was the inspiration for this Typewriter Rodeo poem.
Texas Spring
They say March comes in like a lion
and out like a lamb,
but it never feels like
a baton pass,
a peaceful transfer
of power.
It’s more of a David and Goliath situation,
the lamb waiting till after the lion
has tired himself out
with all that
pipe freezing,
power stealing,
street slicking,
taking down trees
to slowly sneak out of the shadows
and shine her soft light
over the city.
But then, just as we pack up
our towels, tarot cards, and sunscreen,
ready to head to Barton Springs,
the lion awakens from his slumber,
roars a stormcloud,
wind carving deep lines into the lake.
The lamb waits and waits.
We wait and wait.
Then finally,
just when we think it will never come,
She cracks his ice
with strong hooves and sharp teeth
and the first morning glory
begins to bloom
underneath.
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