It is a gray spring morning, damp and cold, when new buds are barely making a show.
Branches like gnarled claws, grasping into the mist that shrouds my morning drive.
The air is still and heavy, a floating moisture clings to my hair and coats the ground, muffling and capturing the sounds of waking birds.
A calm beginning, a waiting quiet, resting before the bright burst of spring.
A sleepy morning takes its turn, as warm rays burst through the heavy clouds.
Yesterday’s fog is lifted and I close my eyes to the renewing glow.
Cherry blossoms turn their face to the sun, opening bit by bit as winter fades.
Hope arrives as dreary days pass away and nature drinks in the light.