The air is fresh. You breathe in and the sharp, cold air fills your lungs with cleanliness. Spring in Iowa brings both pleasure and disgust. The perils of winter subside. Bright sunny days are no longer a punishment.
Thoughts flow much more clearly and a strut can be noticed in everyone's step.
Brown mud encompasses all surfaces, creating a blanket of muck that dominates the landscape. So dark and dreary the appearance, the only savior will be the rain. This is a dying wasteland though, and tomorrow is a better day. Break was a bust. My grandfather is in the late stages of Parkinsons.