Early on Saturday morning it’s spring again, everybody’s doing their thing again.
Cherry blossoms shower me like rice thrown at a bride and groom.

The air is crisp and clear, ice crystals melt, earth heaving into spring,
softening soil like a woman easing into her pleasure.

A smiling fisherman clomping along in wader boots returns from the well stocked
Saddle River carrying a string of glistening rainbow trout strung through their gills.

Passing drivers eyeball a young woman in white shorts with shapely breasts and legs,
hanging wash in size places from grandpa’s winter long johns to toddler’s snuggies.

Busy fingers open up packets of Burpee seeds, eager hands delight in turning over
crusty earth, planting a new crop of zinnias, marigolds and forget-me-nots.

I watch pantomiming daffodils swaying in the wind without a wasted motion.
I raise my voice joining in the peek and tut, tut, tut
of robins rejoicing in the appassionata of spring.

The King of emerald green and Queen of stunning sun allow the mad Prince of play
out again, enabling everyone a chance to be driven to do their thing again.