When I was a boy, Spring was so exciting for me. The school year was edging closer to the end (ha ha), the long, cold, snow-filled winter was over, and everything was coming alive. The smells (yes, I liked the smells), the sounds of the birds and kids outside, and the feel of it all. It was healing, somehow, and it felt freeing.
In this piece, Anticipation of Spring, the girl waits, she's lost in her own thoughts, thoughts of the coming Spring. She thinks of the flowers that will come, the little birds that will flit about in the branches of the trees as they produce their green bounty. The Spring, to her, is like poetry come-to-life. Isn't that the way it should be?