Once we sat in the first rays of an enchanting dawn. A soft breeze cut through the warm welcome of the sun, shaking off the last traces of early morning chill. Spring is in the air. Spring is on the rise. At least it was mere days ago, bringing with it pastel promises of sweet new life. To leave the icy chill of winter in the past and not feel its presence again until many months far into the future. Yes, these were our thoughts, our plans, and like the best laid of scholar and scribe, have gone awry through no fault of their own. The seasons are akin to cats as they fail to cooperate on cue. Instead, they do as they will, quite aloof and unrepentant. A warm purr. A cold stare. Without the faintest hint of rhyme or reason. So true are the first days of any given season. Spring may be the most vexing as it lays caught between the extremes of winter’s ice and summer’s heat. Summer is a welcome continuation of spring’s bounty. The pastel season struggles to wrench itself free of winter’s grasp.
Copyright © Drew Martin 2017