spring is the return of birds that went away from the dark, chirping welcome. it is the snow my aunt calls “lamb’s manure” for the overcast of a March that wants the golden lion’s glow; this month arrived lame, will go out fierce. spring is upheaval after complacency, green shoots poking through the wet, brave as revolutionaries. bold buds unbound of doldrums, dauntless. spring is color coming back, fresh landscape an invitation. each new day asking, asking: how shall you grow now, what beauty each brings, and from this dark winter, where we will build anew

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