Life-bursting

One of my favorite poems ends with this verse: if Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?*

We’re quite far from the Romantic age, but that desire for renewal that Shelley invokes, though much more personal and less activist, sprouts again along with the hints of green of the first leaves and the blossoming of flowers.

Spring is here, with a rainy start that hasn’t stolen anything to the beauty of nature’s awakening. Paths are muddy, making me slow my pace, but my soul is like lifted from the dark burden of long winter days.

Everything becomes brighter, it’s an instant and life bursts in all its power.