Gentle, cool breezes brush my cheeks.
Warm Spring sun battles
The lingering Winter's grip.
Tulare Hill in Spring.
 
Mud piles up on my boots,
Thick clay from a protracted
Winter's deluge, the drought
An obscure memory.
 
Blossoms become a symphony,
Tuning up their instruments
Of color in anxious anticipation.
The show is beginning.
 
This symphony has no conductor,
No direction but the innate knowing
Learned over millennia.
Spring is here!  Show time!
 
This year's visual orchestra,
Fed by deluge after deluge,
Creates nuance and subtlety,
Audacity and fiery explosions of color.
 
Dramatic hues drape the hillsides,
The intensity growing day by day.
At first slow, subtle, and lyrical.
Building to a rousing crescendo.
 
As days warm and grow longer,
A melody develops, unique each year
Expressing all the natural elements
From the retreating Winter.
 
Welcome friends!
Enjoy the symphony.
Music without an audience
Is indeed a lonely endeavor.
 
                                                            Inspired by Dr. Stuart Weiss
                                                            Craige Edgerton, March 2023