Wishing for spring causes memories of a past one

A piece of writing about a spring I experienced while living in the Wild West...

I am now ensconced in springtime. I can hear the honking of the Canadian geese and when I look up, I see their perfect military like formation, their wings flapping in harmony with each other, propelling them across the sky. I hear the bray of cattle, which are grazing in a green field, paying no attention to me. I watch their tails flick bugs and the movement of their jaws as they roll cud around in their enormous mouths. Their black and white colors contrast the green drastically. Green is the dominant color, even the air appears green. The hint of grass as it starts to peer out of the dirt seems to look like a green spray painted ground. The dirt road is dark brown, muddy, from the rains, and cuts a swathed path through the greenness that hangs in the air.

Wet, damp earth infiltrates my nose and I inhale deeply, enjoying the scent. Wildflowers are just starting to bloom along the dirt path that could be a road and the floral tinge to the air makes me smile.

I pull my jacket from my shoulders and I enjoy the breeze across my skin, as welcome as a familiar lover. The sun hangs low on the horizon and the spring sunset has dark blues and purples chasing the reds and pinks across the almost night sky. The sunset paintbox is spilled and as the gloaming comes quickly, the green of the day disappears, and darkness quickly settles, leaving me to wait for the rebirth of yet another season.

Maggie