Springtime

It's springtime, we walk. Small white petals cover the path and float on puddles left by the morning rain. Beside us more linger, waiting, for there turn to cascade down. We tread softly along the lane, carefully we stepping over glistening puddles, avoiding the muddy patches. Then we come to a bench and sit in a sheltered spot just off the path. There watch the sun, the trees rustle in the distant chill wind. And drink in the warm sun.