The trail is dry and hard. I might think it is late summer if it were not for the cold gusts of a spring wind that makes me stumble off the trail finding something a dog left behind. Another gust of wind arrives and I stumble, almost stepping on small spring flowers. I arrive at a bench and sit, tighten the zipper of my coat, and place a hand in each pocket.
Cold Spring wind blowing
Tall grasses bend and shiver
Deep roots hold steady