Like
a gasp of breath held for too long in cold waters, the earth has finally
surfaced from a long winter. I have almost lost what the touch of heat feels
like against bare skin, how a day can
bleed into the evening. I have forgotten the
taste of dewy mornings as I inhale the fresh scent of the dawn, and the
ripeness of each sunset; soft, like a peach.
I have missed the sigh of the trees and their shades
of vibrant green. Foliage that will soon grow
plump and bursting, offering shelter to nimble creatures and their melodic
harmonies. I can see their slow budding now. In the pause between heartbeats,
these trees will bloom. Nature, once again taking us all by surprise with an
event we know as constant.
I can see an awakening by the snowdrops that open
their petals to a coy sun. Their heads are as delicate as bridal lace, adorned
in innocence. They sway in a wind that is still cold enough to bring tears to
my eyes, gooseflesh to my pale skin, yet it carries with it the scent of change.
The hope of longer days, of new life and growing things.
It’s strange how much we can miss the things we no
longer have. But my want for spring, for a new season, it is an ache. I hunger
for change. I crave the assurance that each day will be long and filled with
promise, in the way that only those measured by the lingering presence of the
sun can be. I hold these memories of another time to my chest, keeping them
warm against the persistent winter with the heat from my beating heart. They
are clutched in my fists like secrets, a treasure to protect from the greedy
hands of the cold.
