Winter was long known to me; almost as long as forever itself. Being my favorite season of the year and all, the snow era of whiteness was definitely home to me for as long as I could close my eyes and remember; Needless to speak of the infamous snowman; lonely or not. A follow up to the melancholic fall of autumn where the many mentalities would ever be shaken into the madness of every fracture of a second; so the falling leaves would journey into the unknown hours of eternity where they would eventually lose color and fade away through oblivion; and yet, they would feel at home all through the fluttering shadows of the wind where they would finally reach their blurry destination of life. And truly, the rains of autumn have spoken time and again of the heartfelt desires of many lovers who were all lost; but had somehow all found their way back home through the rain; that’s how the fall feels like home. The sweet sensation of the sun over mingled with the mundane feeling of the golden sands underneath while being filled with the joyous breath of the ocean, that’s of summer love and all that the sun has truly ever given. That’s where strawberries have found true love and where apples have been exchanged. That place of freedom and the lazy breeze have felt like home as well. But as a nature’s lover, I haven’t truly ever known spring; have known of it but never have known its true spirit or how one feels at home during this season. To me, spring has always been but a transition, a brief trip from winter to summer where life has skipped a beat as much as my lonesome heart. Today though, I finally decided to do the unthinkable and get to know spring for the very first time.
First I must say the presence of spring could be a little tricky; but it’s definitely one of the most distinguishable amongst the rest; yes, I do know; there’s a mixture of all seasons. There’s the occasional sudden rain, the scorching sunlit noon every now and then and the blowing wind which could throw you miles away once in a while. God only knows, there might be the rare case of snowfall or flurries at least. But that’s not what spring truly is: a mélange of the other three.
No, the identity of spring as I’ve known it is pretty distinct. It’s the abrupt flow of life, blown into blossoms. It’s the apt gesture of the gods, holding hands, manifesting all that life has ever been: pure happiness and mere bliss. But that has to be lived.
Spring is touching life with none but the tip of your fingers, right against the nothingness of a spring night’s mellow breeze.
Spring is looking up, feeling the healing glow of the stars into your thirsty eyes and being well.
Spring is pulling out your forearms and feeling the living drizzles cooling the surface of your unquenched palms and feel loved.
Spring is not being able to walk straight; for there’s so much beauty all around to see, you don’t want to miss a tiny bit of it; just want to take it all in and feel at peace.
Spring is to smell the blossoms and be fed with that love you’ve longed for.
Spring is in the middle of nowhere, in a foreign land where the buildings and the skies look alien to the eye and truly are.
Spring is the feeling of new feelings at any given second; where the loss of one’s short memory could be mistaken for insanity.
Spring is where the music is sung in another language and yet somehow is understood; for the heart is your only pair of ears.
Spring is that path you’ve walked a million times; but you’ve always been lost on. Spring is to know every step is right, though the path is not known.
Spring is a presence; spring is the presence of life and the existence of love; spring shows you the love and brings you where you truly belong; yes, spring brings you home.
Spring feels like home.