Squashed Mosquito Poetry

It is late in coming
hillsides abstract themselves
with bold blocks of colour

subtleties disappear
a blooming, shadows defined
sun pouring – rain shining

lambs prancing and playing
like new leaves experimenting
with their colourshop of saturated greens

mountains still shining white
snow melts and journeys down
rocks baring their souls at last

and the waterfalls are gushing
the smell of short nights and daffodils …

spring has sprung
like a jack in the box
I breath it in