Springtime.

 I grew up in the country, where Spring is bigger, brighter, and more beautiful. The hillsides turn into emerald seas overnight, and bright eyed birds create a chorus of chirping as soon as sunlight hits the tree filled horizon. There is nothing like finding Spring in a place where it is free to roam unhindered through brush and bracken, popping up in hundreds of pink petaled flowers we call “Spring Beauties”. The stream swells with rain and melting snow, and the sound of rushing, churning, dancing water breaks winter's chilly silence and makes the world come alive. The season swells through the air, bringing gentle breezes that smell of dirt and wetness. Spring comes to the country first, kissing the cold ground with life and warmth.

It comes to the city almost as an afterthought, where lawns are carefully kept and trees are confined and placed in lonely perches. It is a softer, more sleepy version of Springtime, and it creeps up without ceremony or dance. 

But it does come. 
(With a little help from Spring welcoming banners.)

 

 Hello Spring!
Welcome back.