Late Spring.

For many weeks the east wind has howled out across the sea,
Freezing everything in its path, demanding submission,
Cowing the landscape into an empty swathe of angry grey.

For many weeks people have walked with their chins hidden in their collars
Looking down at a grey, wind scarred pavement,
Grunting at each other as they pass.

For many weeks the daffodils have huddled inside their bulbs, afraid to bloom.
The birds have fluffed out their feathers and tucked away their heads
Waiting for their chance to sing.

For many weeks they have hoped for this day
When they might feel the west wind caressing their backs and soar out
To fulfil its promise of new beginnings and fresh purpose.

People everywhere lift their faces to search for a small patch of blue sky
And feel the scent of new growth in the air.
Nothing has changed, yet everything is different.

At long last, Spring!



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