Monday, April 20, 2015

Letter to Spring

By Jasmine Simpson

Dear Spring,

Today is the first day that I’ve really felt your presence. I admit, it’s been warm outside before. Summer visited me a while back and so did Winter. They wanted to stay and chat for a while. Nonetheless, there were a great deal of people who complained about it. Sadly, the earth was too dry for them to tolerate the two. Today, though, I was glad it was you who came.

I needed you today more than ever. When I woke up this morning, the birds chirped outside my window and I could feel the soft rays of sunrise flickering through my room. I felt so warm because of you. Thank you!

I laughed when I walked outside. Your presence was so perfect; I just wanted to cry with joy. Fresh dew from the night gathered on the green grass. It made me smile when your rainy fragrance invaded my nose. That mist hung in the air, too. My hair soaked it up, causing all my work with the flat iron to go to waste. I wasn’t mad, though. Just walking outside gave me so much energy. I found it was worth the sacrifice. 

As I rode to class that morning, I couldn’t help but roll down the window and lean my hand out the side. Your breeze gently caressed my hand and I felt your happiness seep into my skin. How is it that you do that? It must come so easily to you.

I turned on the music as I drove, just as you had suggested. Man, what a good idea. Wasn’t it great when Buckley came on? Remember when Farnham and Gledhill started to blare through the radio after that? You and I danced like lunatics. Ha . . . Hopefully nobody saw that. 

Gosh, that was the best drive I’ve had in a while. 

It’ll be sad when you leave, that’s for sure. Just thinking about it kinda makes me choke up.  Anyways, I don’t want to make you sad by talking like that. We wouldn’t want too much rain now, would we? I hope we can part happily this year, once you’ve had your fill of the earth. By then, Summer would truly be welcome here. I’ll tell her you said hi, by the way.

With all my love,

Jazzie (;

P.S. (That groundhog is nothing but a wussy pushover. Don’t listen to him next year.)

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