on the brink of golden hour

this evening on the brink of golden hour
i trekked up the hill to the library
noting, as i passed, the progress of spring
after days of hiding demurely behind green leaves
the neighbour’s pear tree has had a revelation
erupting in a riot of white blossoms
and the star magnolia at the top of the street
saved from the nip of chilly april nights
is once more in resplendent bloom
as i walked through the park i reveled
at how the lowering light
set the still-bare branches gleaming
and shone off the pale breast
of a mourning dove perched high in the tree
my gaze wandered across the street
to the empty corner lot, once more luxuriantly green
how would it be if i bought it?
i wondered idly, knowing land
in my neighborhood does not come cheap
i could plant a garden — or just keep it open forever
at that point my reverie broke
and i noticed the for sale signs
no longer listed along the sidewalk
pity, i thought, turning the corner
i hope they don’t build a house there —
it will obscure the view of the grass