A spring breeze wandered through the waking trees,
Soft as a secret no winter could keep.
It carried the scent of rain-soaked earth
And the sweetness of blossoms half-open in sleep.
It brushed the hills in pale green strokes,
Set rivers trembling with silver light,
And coaxed shy petals into the morning
Like stars returning after night.
The windows sighed as it drifted past,
Curtains lifted like wings in flight;
Children laughed where the old wind lingered,
Kites stitched color into the sky so bright.
Along the fields, the tall grass bowed
As though greeting an old dear friend.
Even silence seemed to soften
Where the breeze and birdsong blend.
It moved unseen, yet everything answered:
Branches swayed, and hearts grew wide.
For spring does not knock when it enters the world—
It arrives on the breeze, alive inside.
Thank-you for reading.
Brenda Marie
Discover more from Writing Through the Soul
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
