When the sun rises behind the leafless trees the branches arch in their naked form as black shadows telling a future of life and rebirth. There are hope and promise in those branches, despite their black arms. Soon the view will be blocked by the flush of new growth and the umbrellas of green will pop open. If you look closely at the silhouettes of the branches the buds are visible. the small protrusions dot each line.
Spring holds the past and the future carefully in her morning hands. The thermometer outside the window looks as if it doesn’t wish to budge from February’s numbers but I’m certain I just saw June yesterday afternoon. Spring is a turbulent time of year as if winter and summer are fighting for control and we sit on the swing rising high to the bright warm sun and back to the cool earth over and over.
This year, winter has a hold on spring, one hand fending off summer and the other gripping spring, an arm around her neck and the hand over her mouth. Winter is a bully and believes he deserves a longer season than the others. My only hope is that Mother Nature sets her children straight so that this temper tantrum we’ve witnessed is a single act and isn’t a behavioral pattern we will need to endure on a yearly basis.