SPRINGMarch 21. Spring rains pound the ground causing autumnal seeds to wake, tiny bursts of color dot the landscape; yellow, purple, green, even the barest hint of pink. Spring, in all her eternal glory hath stepped lively into this land, where her charming finger doth point there is renewal, rebirth and strength anew. ‘Tis she, the forever childlike daughter of Mother Nature who casts off ice and chill of old man winter. A fine and fickle child she is, dancing through meadows of tiny lavender flowers one moment and next stomping her feet in the moonlit rising creek. Beware, for when her tempers flare neither man nor beast can hide against her. Man may beg of her tender mercies; this mistress of flood, fire and mayhem, but ‘tis merely her nature, as the beasts recall.
Aye, much like our dear child Spring, my tempers flare; only to be washed away with the coolness of a morning rain shower. One must recall, danger is often only perceived; light of day reveals the frightful monster of night ‘tis merely the small branch of a tree, blown by rushing wind to tap tap tap upon the window glass. Morning hath come, painting the dawn with her full palette.
