The air these days is impregnated with anticipation and crispness. Hope floats, not just in corporeal hearts, but even those hibernating barks and boughs, heavenly dormant and silently breathing all winter, bundling up sustenance for a vernal celebration. I wake up to the twitter of an obscure songbird and not the hissing of congealed air. The windows clatter with the mirth of being released from locks, doors to the patio begin to get ready for the opening act of the season. The dreary yellow has started to hue a welcoming shade of green. Parks have begun to look more affable (the way squirrels have begun to look less timid).
When you open your palms and close them back, a fistful of air crumbles inside them. When you sigh a deep sigh, the essence of an impending bloom traps inside your nostrils. When you look towards the sky, clarity is strewn between the occasional cloud and the newly gathered sun. Orchestrated happiness befalls you. As much as you detest it, resist it, desist it, it wraps around the casket of your misery and penetrates so virulently, so helplessly, leaving you weak, at the hands of imposed, almost inflicted joy. Seasonal merriment dictates your pessimism. All you can do is lay back and slump inside your quilt of woven feelings and let this season of serendipity replace the scratchy cynicism that you have long been wearing to keep warm from the cold.
art title - Hope
artiste - Heidi Daley
image url - here
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