taken October 10, 2017 during my trip to NYC.

Spring is a promise. It is rebirth. Shedding winter’s heavy, musty coat of depression. Emerging from the chrysalis with wet, flimsy wings that just need time to dry before they can carry me through the blue skies.

Spring is peaceful rainstorms, rumbling thunder, and raindrops trickling down windows, leaving soft shadows on the pages of familiar friends. It is going through the album of old loves and softly turning each page because they are the past. Promising that this year will be practicing self-sufficiency and self-love in the endless discovery for the definition of love. Looking forward, not backward.

Spring is baby blue skies. It is the shy grey buds concealing rich purple and pink petals. Meeting strangers and wanting them to become familiar. Talking with silence and the eyes, the most telling conversations.

I can’t wait for spring. I’ve been bruised this winter, but spring is balm for my wounds and the breath of energy that puts a sparkle back into my eyes.




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