The dreaded winter months are fading; the abundant rains fleeting, makes for a time beyond compare. The once cold sun is radiating again, long awaited. The brightness of the sun is luminosity to the world.
It shines on everything and everyone, waking the world up from a long slumber. The woods once coated in a blanket of snow are melting. The bears once asleep are aroused and ravenous. The animals were ready to awake, for the population of earth lives if only for this time of year. We spend our long, lonely winter days praying for spring to come. To fill us with a lightheartedness and glee, that only spring can begin.
When the sun comes out from long, cold slumber, the flowers begin to burst forth. The beautiful flowers thrive after a long April rain. This rain pours and washes away all signs of the months proceeding. The liquid sunshine awakens the sleeping flowers. They burst through the wet ground, thriving and radiating, as they reach for the sun. The sun gives them their strength.
Spring is a bewitching season that fascinates the eye. It infatuates you, filling you with a newfound strength. The greatest example of the power of spring, is spring-cleaning. Suddenly, the need to be neat and organized sweeps through the common American household. The need to start fresh and begin again, is by far the greatest affect of spring House doors are thrown wide open letting the rays from the sun spill in. The scent of spring filling houses to the brim; the smell of fresh blooming flowers, of sweet air rushing through the leaves of the trees.
Now bright, dazzling sunlight dances on the fresh buds of trees. Newly sprouting, as if being born again.

The most fantastic part of spring is for children, while their parents scrub the house from top to bottom, they are out enjoying the weather. The sound of spokes turning, quicker and quicker after being stored for what seemed like ages. The vibrant echoing of children’s joyous shouts as they race through the streets amusing themselves. They frolic and frisk like a newborn colt. As they revel in the closing of the cold, windy days.
The whoosh of the water, sliding by down over the soft, worn gray rocks. They were worn from years, or water sliding over and under them, day after day. It was a system now, the water swimming by. But now it was quicker, faster versus its usual steady pace. The creek was flooded from the April rain.
Spring is exquisite; to me it means something of an awakening. I hold my breath every winter, waiting to breath again in spring.