Spring is full.

Spring is full of new ideas, and new plants and smells and bugs and things. It's the resurgence of warm weather, and the beginning of the end of semesters, all the things that eventually become summer. I love the spring. There is something to love about new beginnings. Things are fresh and new, and when things are fresh and new you really can't not love them, there's nothing to hate; and if you hate when there's nothing to hate , well, you're just too pessimistic.

Spring is about new friends, and the return of allergies and rainy migraine headache days; I'll take them all with a spoonful of a sugar, that is too say, I hope it doesn't get stuck in my throat and burn. I'll take it with a swig of pomagranate tea, maybe, that seems to be something that doesn't have any negative side effects.

I want to paint, I want to ride my bike, I want to fall in love with someone. I never can master the third one; I can't even master unrequited love, and that isn't that hard. Last spring I was all consumed with old love, maybe showing a head, maybe nothing again. Nothing again. But that was then, and this is now, and I'm ready. At the very least I'll ride my bike.
When I get around to fixing the chain.

Sping is when I want to take walks, and when I want to sit on the swing in the backyard. I want to cherish the time when it's warm, but not too warm for me; sunny before it hurts. The spring is well worn out metaphor, even a simile too. But cliches are usually cliches for good reason.