Winter to Spring.

Spring usually comes in gentle pinks, tulips budding from the soft soil, and yellow rain boots. Though, recently, I've found myself wandering through the woods, surrounded by a hazy blue, and the greens of moss and trees. 

My shoes sink into mud as I trek through nature's giants, and fall in love with the roots peeking out from the surface, to the branches kissing clouds. 

I've spent more time than usual immersed in the woods of Connecticut, feeling like Robert Frost lost in the beauty of snow covered Earth. (I would say I feel like Thoreau, but he spent months on end living in the woods, I only spend an hour or two a week). 

Not only have I spent early Spring in the woods, but the transition period does not cease to exist. I feel the change of scent in the air, and my music is shifting to dreamier tones. I wear color, and I want to write more. Rain comes often, and the sound lulls me to sleep like a child listening to someone read Peter Rabbit again. 

Spring is a period of rebirth, of innocence, and soft pastels drifting around to form little flowers on tabletops. I want to wear a dress with rain boots and twirl in the rain. I hold a tremendous love for Winter, but Spring awoke me. I was lifted out of a darker haze and into sunshine like a budding plant (third time I've mentioned ought to buy some).

I hope to encounter some positive change as Spring reaches its peak. I would like to improve my writing, my art, and my outlook on the world around me. I've hit a period in my life where I simply have no clue where the next moment will take me. And that's okay. I've lost the fear of the unknown when I lost myself in those woods. I don't really know where I am going, or where these paths will take me, but I am trusting time and the universe to take me where I am meant to go.


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