Winter softens and the birds call their loves. The sun shines above and the grass pops up, gleaming brightly with dew. A white glaze covers my window, a sheen so clear that warm air lightly touches the edges. Raindrops leisure down to where the frame work meets the ground. I look out to the trees, tiny buds on the branches, like little children growing into toddlers, maturing with flying colors. It went by in a blink, the cold— the frost, that I jump out of bed to truly open my eyes to watch green nature sway like the outside is alive.

I put on my coat, for my skin creates tiny mountains in the chill of the breeze. My hair rubs on my face as it passes with ease. I slip on my running shoes and jog to a beat. I jog quicker until I break out a sweat but the wind wipes it away as if saying, “summers not here yet!”

Farther down the neighborhood I slow my pace, watching the flowers dance in water streams running along the corners of the road as if following me home from their journey from the tree. I stop in the driveway, five steps from the door, and look out at the backdrop before I enter my place of comfort once more.


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