As I breeze into the world, I feel its numbness immediately. Young voices call for my arms, mature ones wish for greener grass. Buds ache to fan open, to see the sun and spread their beauty. Gardeners wait for me to caress their gardens.
They’ve all been waiting.
My shyness melts. It’s my season, my turn to beautify nature and make humans, animals and birds smile.
I drift away from shadows beneath the trees, watch a dewdrop fall.
And I wonder, where is she?
I draw a deep breath . . .
The world needs to feel the spring breeze. It has been a long time. Months of cheery summer, royal autumn, beautiful winter . . . Times when I was only allowed to peek, to whisper. Now it is my season.
I twirl around the budding flowers, some vivid, and some subtle, some already open, others still hiding. They’ll come forth and dance with the spring breeze. With me.
I blow faster than the spring breeze ought to, desperate for her. For the sweet one.
I head past the other ones. Pansies, wildflowers, a rose in a corner. Plum blossoms, a little withered. I should hang around longer. I probably seem rude, but they laugh and tell me to have fun.
I see a sparrow, try to race with it. But spring’s more of an easy-going soul, not too intense. I laze back and stroke the grass.
I smile at the little girl and the little boy. They’ve grown. Their green eyes are still the same, though.
But where is she? Where are you, modest and sweet fleur? I look for you in quiet corners, where you always are. Waiting to delight curious eyes, to feed carefree souls. You don’t flaunt and show, do you? You wait for them to come to you. You’re waiting for me to come to you.
Five heart-shaped petals, dark purple, indigo, slightly fluttering. Four of you, blooming in a corner.
My modest and sweet violets.
I laze back in their petals, amulets of dawning spring.