Spring

I have to squint my eyes to keep the sun at bay. The clearest, brightest star has finally emerged from the depths of it's darkest reverie. Nothing dares share the spotlight; faint white streaks are the only proof of clouds today. And below the bright blue sea of sky lays me, a girl on a hammock. I sit in a garden of dead sticks and twigs and brittle skeleton leaves covering patches of beige grass. Crisp cold air breathes life into my tired lungs, rejuvenating them with spring vigor. My voice newly inspired.

I have been hibernating too long. Breathing the same stale air beneath my cozy comforter. So deeply asleep and so comforted by the consistent warmth that I didn't dare move from the bed. The sun woke me. Its strange heat surpassed the quality of my blanket and my skin greeted the rays eagerly in the morning light. From my window I could see the snow dissipate first into brown and then into ground, taking deathly winter with it. And now, the wind stirs, waking the lifeless and seducing the birds into their native lands. Luring me out on tiptoe to kiss it.

And so, here I lay, blanket-less on a hammock beneath the cloudless blue sky, bathing in the changing of the seasons.