On the last day of spring, two-thousand and ten,
the early evening light dances on the hostas
the new moonflowers from my Aunt Connie find their trellis
and the pansies have retired and have been replaced with heat-loving geranium and lantana.
On the last day of spring, two-thousand and ten, it is 90 degrees at 7:00 p.m.
Sometime in January, I will read this again and have a hard time remember the feeling of 90 degrees.
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