Spring seems to be bursting a tad early here in Fredericksburg, as attested by the buttercups that are springing up. Bright yellow flowers, beckoning the sun.
Afternoon, Fields and Factory
I can no longer find a place for my eyes.
I cannot hold my legs together.
My heart is hollow. My head is going to burst.
Mushiness all around. Nothing wants to take shape.
My tongue breaks. And my mouth twists.
In my skull there is neither pleasure nor goal.
The sun, a buttercup, rocks itself
On a chimney, its slender stalk.
- Alfred Lichtenstein (1889 – 1914)
Will your photos be next?
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THOSE ARE DAFFODILS, NOT BUTTERCUPS.