If spring were a metaphor, it would mean hope and possibility. It reminds me that the harsher things (like winter’s biting winds) are temporary.
Spring proves new things are possible. That apparent death can yield life. That branches which look hard and barren today can bear downy blossoms almost overnight.
When I need hope, I look to spring. Teeming with assertions of life, it is the season of new and renewed things. Touching us with warmer weather like a loving hand. Bringing us outdoors again as it thaws the land.
If spring were a simile, she’d be like a generous friend. Offering the perfume of aromatic blooms and their lavish hues. Giving the subtle lengthening of days. Dulling the chill in the air and producing hydrating rain.
If spring had a song, it would be the birds’ morning melodies. And the percussion would be the sound of raindrops hitting everything.
I have love for all the seasons, but I’m especially fond of spring. It is full of meaningful metaphors and inspiring similes.
Spring is a triumph of life. It’s like seeing the world reborn. It’s a love letter to the living. However harsh the winter, spring will always come.