Now the sweet smell of spring is dulled by a plastic mask
Dulled by the thick humid air of The South
A place of Rough Barked Oaks and Longleaf Pines
A place I’ve only known as my home
A place I once walked freely and enjoyed all that surrounded me
With no care
With no worry
But now I wonder what’s drifting in the sweet Southern breeze
What could collapses my airway like a flower wilting in the hot August sun
One speck of pollen
One speck of dust
My mask is now my protector
My mask is now my best friend
Each morning I look out on the soft rays of light
Petals from the sun, the mighty sunflowers glow in an amber haze in the distance
The air is filled with the hum of honey bees buzzing
The spring buds are ready to bloom
Bursting out from their wintry shells
Still stunning to my eyes although my mask won’t let me smell them
Butterflies flap their bright wings
Smearing the air with an orange colored haze as they gently float by
The spring skyline has started to blush with a slight shade of pink
I’m glad to still see all of the beauty, although through the cost of a mask
For all of its beauty, it carries the danger of sickness
With the sweet smell of jasmine
The sweet smell of magnolia
The sweet smell of death, if I don’t wear my mask
Published at Indigo Rising Magazine April 27 / 2011
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| Photo By Jason E. Hodges |
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