There’s a special kind of magic in the time just before spring fully arrives — that tender pause when the earth holds its breath. It’s a season of waiting, a soft in-between where the world feels both still and full of quiet promise.
The sun returns with gentle warmth, coaxing longer days and chilly nights to mingle. I feel it deep inside — a stirring, a gentle pull to begin again. It’s the time I plant seeds, not just in soil, but in hope.
Birdsong creeps back into the morning air, waking me earlier, nudging me to notice. Then, as if winter isn’t quite ready to release its hold, snow sometimes returns — a fleeting reminder of the seasons’ delicate balance.
Yet, the first flowers appear, small and brave, pushing through cold earth and fading frost. Their arrival makes my heart sing, lifting it with the promise of warmth, growth, and renewal.
I breathe deeply, waking up to another spring — another chance to grow, to create, and to be present in this beautiful rhythm of nature.
