The snow has melted and I can see earth again. In the front yard of the place I for now call home, I am watching the eager effort of new life in the form of violets push their way from solid ground and stretch upwards, faces following the sun. A new beginning. The birds rise earlier than they have been, waking the rest of the sleeping world with their song. And a warm wind is winding itself around this town.
After tireless months that compose years that create my life, I had reached a point back home where I felt as though my past and aspects of my present were strangling me and I was turning blue, peripheral vision clouding and my life fading. I am slowly but surely stripping my layers, both metaphorically and literally and I feel more alive in a strange place than I have in years.
I am the violets.
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