The hopeful promises of spring

Write about spring, my husband says.

It's my trilogy … April, May, and June.

I love the hopefulness it promises.

Spring is filled with new.

Brimming with young.

It's splashed with color.

On the trees — on the ground.

Paint flung in all directions.

The peepers down by the pond are singing.

The birds are thinking about the family way.

Butterflies wander, pause, and wander some more.

Spring persuades even the sun to stay.

They chat far into the evening.

Gardens wait for their seeds, eager to get growing.

The air sniffs out the best scents.

Lilacs...apple and cherry blossoms...piney woods.

Wild roses...balsam poplars...irises.

The tamaracks put on their soft green needles.

Feathered wings that flutter in the breeze.

Ospreys return to hunt the rivers.

Fawns skip about in the safety of the doe's shadow.

Spring calls to the overburdened — and the lonely.

To the tired — and the sad — and the struggling.

To the indifferent — and the frustrated.

See me, it says. Really see.

I am here to show you hope.

To remind you of joy — and laughter — and discovery.

Of new starts — and a refreshed spirit.

Yes, I go where seasons go.

But you are different.

You carry my hopefulness into every season.

I am really just a packet of my own seeds.

Growing spring in you when you need it most.