When I spied the mist between the back garden trees beyond the fence this early morn
I knew it.
The frothing texture of promise. The well-worn veils of skies were about to be pierced.
The fencing rays of March.
Heralded by daffo-primrose-dils.
Brazen soldiers of spring. Oblivious of bloodshed. Of the world in uproar.
Of isolated peninsulas in a nebula of fogged brains.
Where daffodils turned crocodiles. Waiting to devour.
Barriers and battles of March.
The rain tears of heaven, the hail frozen frontiers, the storms hailing destruction.
Messengers of mankind´s fall.
East is Eden no more. We look west and expect fairer skies.
While the west is seeing the first sun of March, in the east an army prepares to march…
10th March 2014, Ukrainian Musings
©By Andrea Connolly