In spring, I wear the bathrobe air, soft and warm and blue. My feet along the street and path rove, looking for a few new flowers, like the crocuses that push up ground like babies' teeth, with hues so clear my eyes can't focus on the ground beneath. They splash and flash upon the lawn in stripes of ivory, amethyst, and some are pearls and some are gold and some I almost missed.
The jewels of spring are a surprise, the air, like yellow honey flows. I see the world with new, new eyes, and wear the air like golden clothes.