It will come with its rustling green
And zinging cicadas
Its sound of tires on gravel through open windows
It will come with its late day glow
As light from the drooping sun
refracts through a zillion minuscule droplets
In the afternoon haze
Will it not come?
It will come with the creak of beach chairs
Opening up
Its sparkling specs of sand stuck between toes
It will come with waves of crashing on my shore
But what will its tide bring in?
It will come with the smell of ozone
Rising from raindrops reaching hot blacktop
Like tears reaching scorching tongues
It will come with its rich irriguous earth
That dries into parched hands
Is it not now hiding in spring’s soil?
I’m also busy about sowing seeds
Anticipating its arrival
Do you think I’m not?
I’m planting
Resilience
Independence
Determination
I plan to water them diligently