Monday, April 11, 2011


I seem to fall for you every year.
You appear, breath, and dye my heart different pastel colors.
And then, teasingly you stick your tongue out, pull down a cover of snow, and hide.
My red Toms that have been previously established as cheery, now are wet and angry. They keep asking me why I fall for your tricks.
I begin to defend myself and then I remember...
The single pair of socks shared between two sisters cold and unprepared feet for a week. It was April.
The morning I came upstairs to find my roommates lounging instead of class attending, when asked why they opened up the blinds. Snow blinded me. It was June.
You're right, I should have known better Red Toms.
As to you Spring, let's make a deal. You appear and stay for a while, and I'll promise to use you in all the proper ways. I'll picnic in light cardigans, smell the blooming flowers, and drive with the window rolled down.


  1. This is so Kelsey.

    Thanks. Sometimes (most times) I need a dose of Kelsey and her angry/cheerful power-play.

  2. P.S. Come to Seattle. It's real Spring here. As in my-tree-has-already-turned-from-blossoms-to-leaves kind of real Spring. As in I-picked-a-bouquet-of-dandelions-in-a-cardigan kind of real Spring. As in I-leave-my-windows-open-and-not-because-it's-just-too-hot kind of real Spring.

    Come to Seattle.