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Chartreuse dreams,

Vernal eruptions;

Frenzied, natal celebrations.

The hills are emerald.

Streams chatter like giddy teenagers.

An embarrassment of wildflowers clothe the meadows;

At any moment the very stones may burst forth with singing.

Such abandon! Such intemperance! I am intoxicated by the earth’s exuberance.

The world is a wanton in Spring and I a willing paramour, smitten by her voluptuousness.

I nestle my face in the bosom of her green hills, a crown of flowers in my hair,

The symphony of ten thousand songbirds on my lips.

—Brigit ,March, 2008


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