I Am Spring

by Ellie Tayler | Mar 5, 2024 | 0 comments

Month of March Grand Prize

In September, my family moved from WI to SC. The change was rewarding, difficult, and full of amazing discoveries as we explored our new state. In writing this, I wanted to portray the beauties of living in the American North and South in March. Both are full of the splendor of Creation!

I am the dirt of a Northern March. I am frozen, hard-packed, icy. But I am thawing…soon I will be Spring.

I am the dirt of a Southern March. I am moist, ready, working… I am Spring’s greatest tool.

I am the voice of a Northern March. I am a whispering sound, not yet breaking out fully. I trickle through melting ice. I creak with bending trees. I rustle with soft new grass. I am the coming Spring.

I am the voice of a Southern Spring. I sing softly, gladly. I am silky magnolia petals fluttering through the air. I am birds’ wings, flying across an azure sky. I am rushing waterfalls by mossy stones. I am the awaited Spring.

I am the sights of a Northern March. I am muddy, once-crystal snow, slowly giving way to purer waters. I am frozen fields, becoming old golden ones. I am tiny hopeful buds, visible only to those who look. I am shy blue sky, docile brown deer, and hints of green. I am Spring—but you must come look for me.

I am the sights of a Southern March. I am creamy daffodil cups, fresh apple blossoms. I am fussing ducks, darting cardinals. I am creeping vines and budding branches, rushing waters and fluffy, floating clouds. I am the fresh, splendid sights of Spring.

I am the feel of a Northern March. I am chilly and fresh. I am slick, running, breaking. I am blowing wind, growing steadily warmer day by day. I am rubbery tulip leaves; fuzzy buds; sweet, crisp air. I am the beginning of Spring.

I am the feel of a Southern March. I am soft, gentle, and flowery. My breeze is sweet and fair on your cheek, and my water is cool and cleansing and fast-flowing. I am delicate flower petals, baby pink, creamy yellow, sparkling star white. I feel like child laughter, like the Breath of God. I am Spring itself.

I am the taste of a Northern March. You can taste me in the air—try it. I taste like crispy, melting snow. Like tumbling, clear, cold water. Like smooth gray rock, revealed at last after all that snow. I taste like young tulip leaves—the rabbits know that. I taste of sunshine on the wind, coming out glad and brilliant. I am still learning to be Spring, but I will get there.

I am the taste of a Southern March. If you were a bee, you would love me, for I am full of sugary honey from flowers. If you were a horse, you would spend hours cropping my crisp, sweet new grass out in the sunshine. If you were a bird, you would finally abandon winter seed for fresher delights. I am a young Spring, ready to flourish and grow.

I am March everywhere. I am snow; I am stream. I am bud; I am blossom. I am whisper, and I am song. Breathe, ponder, exult, and praise God.

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