Summer Pallette

Summer Pallette

Four days ago Earth gave me frozen ground beneath my feet
in crusted old winter white
and for just a mile ride in the car, frozen fingers, too,
and pinched toes and I had to pull my fingers up into the palms of my gloves.
Three days ago I woke up to Earth floating in a fog, covered in a grey cloud.
In a universe apart, dull and alone, rain misted,
then heavier it fell and soon it was two days ago.
The rain washed and washed and scrubbed until the face of old winter was white and glazed,
slippery clean and down to layers frozen there when winter began.
Yesterday I awoke to a day already begun.
Running, tumbling clouds crossed the sky taking turns with the sun in my eyes.
Winds blew so fierce I feared for the trees
and could almost see roads towel-dried.
Where snow banks the day before had receded, grass appeared roadside in tufts here, inches there, sprung up like the fur on the tail of a cat who has finished with her bathing, and I stayed in.
Then today, after she had roused and shaken herself awake,
Earth sat back, majestically, to study herself and prepare a summer palette
in silent pastel sun, slightest breeze, bits of moisture, dots of clouds.
Tomorrow, I surmise from dreams of summers gone
When sun-baked tar beneath my feet sent me tippy-toed,
the cool green grass will offer up its refuge
And nights indoors will feel like out, and outside feel like in.