Blowing bubbles, biking backwards, babbling blasphemy, I scratch his head, playfully he bats at my hand, beep, beep, beep goes the timer. Bop, bop, bop, says the singer, slyly, slowly the sun sets across the lake, water flows, flows, down the spillway, spilling fast, spilling slow, spilling foamily, the crane waits patiently for a fish.
The beans sprout, the peonies pop out in an explosion of color and force!
While the fig, oh, the poor fig tree slowly comes back to life after a hard, hard winter's night, so cold it was. Warm and sunny now!
Still, though, I dream of Alabama, the beautiful. Thank you, thank you.