Walking Under a Black Umbrella

Walking under a black umbrella
I saw the seasons starting to change,
the coffee tree blooms showed of their magnificent
pure white petals and sighed their sweet scent
into the still cool morning air.

In the distance the mountains were
getting dressed again with their flamboyant trees
and fresh vegetation covered the earth
that has been naked for all winter time.

And the rivers, oh the powerful rivers,
having been depleted of their powerful waters
now start to wake again and rumble and make the ground shake
as they are filled with life again and grow sonorous once more.

At night the spring showers sing their lullaby
and they wake the seedlings that have been asleep
and encourage them to stretch their arms
and break through the hard ground.

And in the cool breezes of a March
morning bird songs dance and travel
from the tops of trees to the grasses in the valleys
and all the way to the coasts of tropical islands in the south.

Walking under a black umbrella,
as I hum along with the sounds of the waking spring
I am caressed by a butterfly that has just come to life
and she leaves a trail of her wing paint on my cheek.

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