End of March or early April spring dares to emerge once again. 

My greatest foe: a show of colors growing in the quickly melting snow. 

The flowers and I weren’t always sworn enemies, however. 

In my wiggly teeth years, 

I saw the lawns embellished with tiny jewels

More precious than any diamond or sapphire 

The underground could ever produce. 

The dandelions- triumphant with crowns of gold,

And the white clover- holding their pearl heads high,

Oh so high for all of the world to see – 

A field of possibilities. 

I ran with the grass tickling my shins and the sunbeams waltzing across my face.

My mom’s nimble fingers toiled to weave their little stems together,

Her heart filled with awe as she channeled their beauty into

A flower crown fit for a princess. 

With that crown upon my crown, a chorus of blissful joy echoed through my soul,

The flowers are my attentive conductors. 

I saw how the Charoite-colored crocuses crooned

And I saw how Black-Eyed Susans bestowed upon us the blessing of their bright amber buds.

I saw how Spring covered our world in little wonders. 

I saw seeds of pure magic and delight in the most unlikely of places:

Sidewalk cracks, parks, right under your feet.

Spring sang a song of innocent pleasure. 

Now, in the age of wrinkles around my eyes,

The joyful chorus has been drowned out, 

No longer filling my head and heart. 

Instead, I hear the droning of responsibilities, of judgment.

I took off my rose-colored glasses and suddenly,

No longer are the flowers jewels speckling my lawns,

But invaders, pests, weeds. 

My fingers toil hard, not honoring the flowers with the formation of crowns,

But evicting them from their place in the lawn. 

My lawn.  

I see selfish beasts growing without permission.

And I see self-centered brats ruining the perfection 

 I spent so long cultivating in my well-manicured lawn. 

I see how Spring is a toddler, throwing a tantrum for my attention;

I see her breaking my beloved possessions along the way, shoving herself where she is not wanted. 

She’s no longer singing, but screaming for me to notice her. 

I cover my ears.