It's that time again, my favourite month in the year.
Whenever this happens, I get overwhelmed with the magical beauty of everything, and to even write a word about this month, the season, is to write poetry. That's what spring and May does to me. My praise for the magic nature displays at this time of year just instils such a deep profound sense of awe.
I find it truly apt that Mother's Day belongs to May, because there is something so nurturing about the rebirth of life, the green buds, the blossoms, the lush green that's soon to sprout. There is a beautiful femininity that gives an aura of delicate fragility and yet, to be able to revive and thrive in such a way, an inner strength that belies that delicacy.
See what I mean? I just can't help it, the prose just sprouts like those new buds that adorn the once bare trees. May makes me happy. Beautiful entities are just born in this month and regardless of my low tolerance for the cold winters I am thankful that I can reside in a climate where this change in nature is so clearly emphasized. Not emphasized by people, mind you, because not just everyone shares my enthusiasm for this magical fairyscape, but emphasized by the force of nature itself.
Although the skies are still cloudy, and the chill still permeates the air, there is a promise that says one day soon, the skies will be clear cerulean blue and the clouds whispers of white cotton and the sunshine, beaming as a happy child's gummy smile.
