The hillsides

Resplendent in

Pungent greens

Echo a Pollock Painting

Splattered with

The rich yellows and Gold

Of the poppies

The mustards grown tall

Amid dapples of

Wild lilac.

Even the sage is resplendent

Now seeming purple

In the mid day sun.

All is in bloom

Awakened by

The fervent rains.

 

Are we done yet?

All will wilt in the heat

Of summer

Then

There will be winds of fire

That we may bloom again.