Late April

As I gaze through the glass

White clouds become a strange mixture of brown and yellow

"Rest stop, 1 mile" says a passing sign,

But I hit that rest stop hours ago

The air around me tastes stale

I cannot ease my cravings

Those around me seem to be yelling

But I can't hear what they're saying

As I'm distracted by the beauty that is the passing blur 

Of the world outside.

Crumbling stone walls stand guard

Between my fast moving car

And the ancient buildings that move slower than logically possible

The vibrant color of the newborn grass

Hypnotizing as it speeds by

As I breath in the sweet sent of honeysuckle, I smile contently;

Late April is my favorite time of year.