I don’t have a favorite season. I enjoy the perks (and suffer the slings and arrows) of each one in its time. That said, there’s something special about spring. The snows recede, the birds sing. And each bird’s song sounds like a resounding promise—little high-pitched assurances that warmer weather is coming…eventually. The sharpness of winter’s cutting winds begins to dull. The sun starts to give more warmth with its light—penetrating further and further into the hours, extending the day by delaying the darkness of night.
I don’t have a favorite season, but I have a taste for spring. Its looks and smells are inspiring. Spring is a reminder that life is full of fresh starts. Trees that through winter were stark skeletons start to bud and blossom. As the earth begins to thaw and plants prepare to sprout, my goals seem to grow more possible. The potential for life abounds.
I don’t have a favorite season, but I always welcome spring. The scent of wet earth as snow defers to her liquid cousin. The dormant and hibernating revived. A time of birth and growth and life.
Every season has its beauty. I take them as they come. Spring, she meets me cold as winter, but she always leaves me warm.