There’s a stillness in the air,
just before the first bloom breaks through,
as if the world holds its breath,
waiting for something new to begin.
The cold lingers like a memory,
but the earth knows it’s time to wake up.
And so it does—
the ground softens, the air warms,
and the sky whispers of what’s to come.

I, too, have waited—
held myself in the quiet space of change,
afraid to push forward,
afraid of what I might lose.
But like the buds that reach toward the sun,
I too am learning to stretch,
to open,
to trust that growth doesn’t happen
without first stepping into the light.

The trees are bare no more,
the leaves unfurling in slow defiance of the cold,
and I—like them—begin to recognize
that there is beauty in the breaking,
in the waiting,
in the quiet strength it takes
to come back to life again.

I feel it in my bones:
spring is not just a season,
but a promise—
that with every ending,
there is always the chance for something new,
something beautiful,
something waiting for me to bloom.

peaceofmind.y