At the edge of a turning world, it begins—
not with thunder, but a quiet shift in light.
Morning stretches a little wider,
breathing gold into corners once held by gray.
The air feels different on your skin,
like a promise you can’t quite name.
Branches, once bare as whispered secrets,
now hum with the courage of small green things.
Footsteps sound softer on waking,
as if the ground itself is listening—
waiting for laughter, for rain, for life
to return in bright, unguarded colors.
This is how a season begins:
not all at once, but in gentle insistence—
a bird daring the silence,
a bud risking the cold,
a heart remembering how to hope.
Thank-you for reading.
Brenda Marie
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Beautiful poetry about the wonderful coming of spring, Brenda!
Thank-you, Tim
My pleasure, Brenda. 😍
This is lovely, Brenda 🌷— you’ve captured that delicate, almost sacred moment when the world tips from winter into spring. The way you describe light “breathing gold into corners once held by gray” and branches humming with “the courage of small green things” is tender and breathtaking. It reads like hope finding its language again.🤝
Thank you so much for this—your words truly moved me. I love how you reflected the piece back in your own language; “hope finding its language again” is such a beautiful way to put it. That quiet turning between seasons always feels a little miraculous to me, like something gentle but persistent is waking up in the world—and in us, too. I’m really grateful it resonated with you 🤍
Thank you Brenda for your kind reply ! And you are most welcome 🌷🤝