The First Day of Spring in Brooklyn

Nothing is so beautiful as spring—

When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing
                                                             from Spring, by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Consider the signs of Spring:

A crocus blooming in my back yard

Flowers adorning construction sites on Smith Street

and a Christmas tree on Fourth, tired but undeterred, greeting the season from under a pile of garbage. It made it!  Who knows how long it will last?  Maybe July 4th?  To celebrate, let's have a few more lines of poetry.  Take it away, Mr. O'Hara:

However, I have never clogged myself with the praises of
pastoral life, nor with nostalgia for an innocent past of
perverted acts in pastures. No. One need never leave the
confines of New York to get all the greenery one wishes–I can’t
even enjoy a blade of grass unless i know there’s a subway
handy, or a record store or some other sign that people do not
totally regret life. It is more important to affirm the
least sincere; the clouds get enough attention as it is and
even they continue to pass. Do they know what they’re missing?
                                                 from Meditations in an Emergency, by Frank O'Hara