Spring has always been my favourite season. And how can it not, when nature literally begins coming back to life suddenly, after months of dormancy? It’s like a naturally poetic time.
I love how the bare trees begin sprouting out again, I love how a lot of the flowers which were planted ages back finally open their buds and start blooming.
I love how the weather becomes practically perfect in every single way.
I think I just love the fact that spring makes everything seem so hopeful and possible…like an acknowledgement of the fact that the few months of the new year which have gone by might not have given you everything you desired already, but there are still so many months left. There is still hope for wonderful things to happen.
Okay. I think I myself get hopelessly poetic during spring. And now I know why I loved reading P. B. Shelley’s ‘Ode to the West Wind’ – because though it is dedicated to the harsher wintery winds and talks mostly about despair and destruction, it talks a lot about what is to come, and how everything will bloom again in spring.
O Wind,If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?– Percy Bysshe Shelley (Ode to the West Wind)