First it’s just a haze up in the trees. Almost imagined. Then it catches you as you pass. One green bud has forced its way out of this dead-looking twig. Tightly packed, ready to burst. And there is another, and another. Soft like a babies’ skin, a birth on every branch.
Slow-motion eruption, some invisible weight jarred out of inertia and everything is turning. Curdling, ripping open. Amidst the churning earth, green whispers and suddenly a pink bush bursts into life. Pink!
As if you were color blind your whole life, now seeing color for the first time.
Soon the colors come hard and fast. Leaves unwind from buds, filling our nostrils with greedy expectation.
Like rutting deer, we’re ready to ram the trees, kick our legs, start a fist-fight. Eyes inadequate to the task of absorbing, wanting to roll in the grass like dogs. Almost angry at our limited senses in the presence of this happening. Spring.