Spring is found in small resurrections,
The insistence of life anew, a bud, a leaf, a flower.
One raindrop, one last winter tear, merging with another,
Surging, overflowing, transformational, and true,
As unstoppable as the sunrise or a baby’s laugh, a miracle.

Spring is the flutter of butterflies freed,
Tantalizing warbles and chirps building to a family song.
One bud bursting, one finite flower erupting into resurgence,
Ripe with infinity and star dust, an everlasting promise.
Spring is found in small resurrections.

Spring always fills me with poignant yearnings, joyous bubbles of happiness rising to the surface amidst winter regrets, even bringing a poem or two.  I wander through my garden looking at new sproutings of chartreuse and celadon poking through the soil, at the fuchsia flowers on the redbud tree, and the ephemeral cerise and citron lace barely visible on tree limbs popping into view after the rain.  In fleeting…