What do I call you?
You, bunched together in the shade of the bright spring sun.
How can I address each of you, each one beautiful.
There are flocks of birds and schools of fish, but what can be said about the blooms and petals?
Shall I call you a family? Sisters and brothers alike. Or shall I call you a band, linked in your endeavors of colors and aromatic scents.
Perhaps I shall call you Legion. For you all are one in captivation and emotion. Inspiring a passerby like the bee drawn to nectar.
I am here! I am new! I am alive!
I am spring, and I am the color of new born green and yellow and blue.
I am that laughter that erupts from your lips, having tasted the first fruit of the season and the tickles of fresh grass on your bare skin.
Be merry in the sounds that buzz, and babble, and sing.
Grow in happiness as the flower does on the hillside and bask in the warmth that is Spring.
Would you love me still, if all my leaves have fallen away?
If my green splendor was removed and you saw me only with bare bones.
What would you say to me then?
I shiver in the fear of your voice, telling me an answer I hope never to hear.
That my barriers have been stripped away and what is left of me is only sticks.
And in a snap you could end me.
But your answer is soft. It touches me like the sun on the bare limbs of a tree in winter.
It warms and it encourages.
“You are the spring.” You whisper, and in response my heart blossoms.