it is the time of year when color will win against white and life will bud under frost.
it is the time when green sprouts up from ashes and dead roots.
the warm winds arrived from the mountains, melting snow and hearts and heads.
frost and rain took turns, snow, clouds, ice, fog, storms, the fight of the seasons.
until now we have reason to think spring will win and summer will come, and maybe we will embrace and kiss in a gentle breeze.
in myself it is the same fight as in you, life and death. though we must die it does not mean that death is the winner. the cycles of nature shown to us do not show winners but life.
i will survive this way or another one in which i will give myself if i want to or not.