Wednesday, April 11

Spring is glorious, here.

There are blossoms on flowers, new and bright and fresh--like lightning. There are fragile new leaves, children from gnarled branches of ancient trees. It hurts to look at it all in context; like some unveiled banner of a very powerful cause. I guess rebirth is a powerful cause. Easter is.

The grass is lively and soft and very, very bright. I took off my shoes the other day in the park, and stood barefoot in the grass. I had let my hair down (it was still damp from washing, but smelled sweet) to dry in the sun, and it felt good to let the sun shine on my face. I realised it had been awhile since I could step outside without the tip of my nose being consistently cold.

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