The Signs of Spring

From the window, I watch the earth stir,
A hush fills the air, the quiet before the bloom,
Emerald whispers brush against the sky,
As if the world itself is stretching,
Reaching toward the light, toward the color,
Where warmth and cold meet in the dance of contrast.
Each petal that unfurls carries a memory,
A melody painted in hues too soft, too bright.
Rhythms of green, bursts of violet and gold,
A symphony composed by the hands of the earth,
Where every stroke is emotion,
And every color, a story waiting to be told.