*The copyright extends to cover both the image and the text.
The night air still harbors a chill though it lacks the bite it once had. These nights come less often and are becoming a distant memory. A bad dream forgotten beneath the warmth of a bright spring sun. Signs of new life sprout in all directions. A rebirth of the natural world. Fields, pastures, and valleys take on an emerald hue as grass shoots to the sky. This is a happy time for the mountains. The trees covering the landscape no longer resemble gnarled skeletons. Fresh leaves budding on branches offer a youthful exuberance. There is hope winter has suffered defeat, and a revenge campaign to re-claim the seasonal throne is far in the distant future. Wildflowers bloom on mountainsides while tulips bloom on cultivated, manicured plots. It isn’t important where they bloom as long as they do. Bees don’t discriminate by location. They are grateful for the flowers and in return the flowers are grateful for the bees. I am grateful for both. Along with the warm days and colored landscapes. Gray is no longer the color of the season, the entire pallet is in use. The pastels of spring are on display. The mountains rejoice in the true coming of the season. I rejoice with the mountains. Not only for the coming warmth, the pastels, spring, but for them. They are my home, and as much a part of me as I am of them.
Copyright© Drew Martin 2016