Boing

Dear Spring, 

Please rear your beautiful head, I've been waiting patiently for you.  I can feel myself getting restless in my own skin and my mind has been prone to wandering.  I refuse to believe this beautiful night with the almost-warm wind brushing across tired cheeks as we maneuver around shrinking snow piles in our thin t-shirts could be a tease.  You know better than anyone that I don't take winter well, it wears me down to a dull point.  No matter how brightly the sun shines or how vibrantly the windows twinkle with intricate ice formations or how softly the snow clings to the barren arms of trees, I cannot shake the darkness that winter brings.  It is suffocating, claustrophobic.  It is weary.  It is uninspired.  It is empty.

You are life.  Renewal. Growth. Revival. Restoration. You are energy. 

I promise when you make your grand, albeit fashionably late, entrance, I will worship you reverently.  I will stroke your blooming petals with care, lay my cheek to the ground, and experience your greatness and divinity with all of my senses, because there truly is no separation between my body, my soul, and the rest of the known reality.