In a Station of the Metro (Ezra Pound)

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet black bough.

This weekend, I saw green grass. In Western Canada, days of rain are uncommon; the dust and dirt never seems to wash away. My heart, with the warmer weather, longs for the earth to spring to life again. I want the cool, damp downpours and the little green buds appearing in the mud. But I must be patient.