I noticed the blossoms. Light breaking through the melancholic spring sky, gently interrupting my cloudy thoughts. Little white wings freely fluttering amongst themselves. Whispering something about pure potential, growth, and releasing the past. The cycle of seasons continues, regardless of thoughts, emotions, or quarantine. Spring has always tested my patience. It seems to be indecisive; one day it’s winter, the next it’s summer. It never fails to snow again just when I paint my toes and pull out the flip flops. Spring likes to remind me nature has it’s own schedule and there is beauty in waiting. Instinctively, the restorative dormancy of winter allows for the vibrant vitality of summer. Sometime in between, the illusive pastel transition of spring allows creativity to gently awaken. When I think of spring, and this moment, as a time of metamorphosis, my patience takes a breath. My watery, itchy eyes know a new vision is in the making. I can feel the blossoms floating down to gently kiss my face, I got the message… It’s ok to simply wait.