Yes, Sunday was a warm day, soft gentle breezes and comforting rays of the sun. It was a facade. Coaxing us out of our houses to sit in the sun, and wash our cars and plant our seeds in the still cold earth. Coaxing the buds from the trees and the daffodils from the ground, only to slam us with another frigid wintery day. For spring has not yet arrived my friend.
Spring is all wet and squishy and full of new young growing things, so weak and fragile.
The pale yellow-green new leaves of the maple trees, soft as a butterfly's wings. The tulips and daffodils holding their heavy heads on spindly stems looking nervously about for the hard rain or gusting wind that will slam to the ground, necks broken and battered. The sodden earth, pulling me down with each step, no confidence, no purpose. I'll not let Her mock me. She begins to lose control.