Spring Is Not Subtle

Poems & thoughts on the vernal season

Spring Is Not Subtle

Spring is not subtle with regards to life.

With explosions of blossoms it emphatically reminds.

It bursts with delicate colors.

It pushes through chilled earth.

It rains.

It shines.

It shivers.

It warms.

Spring is not a modest season.

It is soft, and bold, and bright.

It indulges the nose with its perfumed blooms.

And its colors entice our eyes.

Spring does not defer to winter.

Summer it proudly precedes.

It is a season like no other.

Dazzling senses like a dream.

Spring is an emphatic invitation.

Life recalled, restored, renewed.

In spring all things are possible.

And life is the loudest truth.

A Spring Haiku

There are certain trees

Whose puffs and petals sing spring,

And I love their song.

Spring Is a Triumph

If spring were a metaphor, it would mean hope and possibility. It reminds me that the harsher things (like winter’s biting winds) are temporary.

Spring proves new things are possible. That apparent death can yield life. Those branches which look hard and barren today can bear downy blossoms almost overnight.

When I need hope, I look to spring. Teeming with assertions of life, it is the season of new and renewed things. Touching us with warmer weather like a loving hand. Bringing us outdoors again as it thaws the land.

If spring were a simile, she’d be like a generous friend. Offering the perfume of aromatic blooms and their lavish hues. Giving the subtle lengthening of days. Dulling the chill in the air and producing hydrating rain.

If spring had a song, it would be the birds’ morning melodies. And the percussion would be the sound of raindrops hitting everything.

I have love for all the seasons, but I’m especially fond of spring. It is full of meaningful metaphors and inspiring similes.

Spring is a triumph of life. It’s like seeing the world reborn. It’s a love letter to the living. However harsh the winter, spring will always come.

A Taste for Spring

I don’t have a favorite season. I enjoy the perks (and suffer the slings and arrows) of each one in its time. That said, there’s something special about spring. The snows recede, the birds sing. And each bird’s song sounds like a resounding promise — little high-pitched assurances that warmer weather is coming…eventually. The sharpness of winter’s cutting winds begins to dull. The sun starts to give more warmth with its light — penetrating further and further into the hours, extending the day by delaying the darkness of night.

I don’t have a favorite season, but I have a taste for spring. Its looks and smells are inspiring. Spring is a reminder that life is full of fresh starts. Trees that through winter were stark skeletons start to bud and blossom. As the earth begins to thaw and plants prepare to sprout, my goals seem to grow more possible. The potential for life abounds.

I don’t have a favorite season, but I always welcome spring. The scent of wet earth as snow defers to her liquid cousin. The dormant and hibernating revived. A time of birth and growth and life.

Every season has its beauty. I take them as they come. Spring, she meets me cold as winter, but she always leaves me warm.

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