I never can decide whether spring or fall is my favorite season. Both are beautiful, offering change and new directions, the beginnings of new roads and opportunities. 

But with spring outside, ready to touch, see, and smell, I’m feeling a bit swayed toward the beauty of this season.

It’s in the living buzz of the bees as they stuff their pockets with pollen.

It’s in the scalloped edges of the new leaves, still sticky from their buds.

It’s in the outrageous colors of the flowers, outdoing the imagination of any fashion designer.

It’s in the unshorn grass, joyful to be alive and growing.

It’s in the unfurling petals, reaching toward the sun.

It’s the magic and mystery of the world coming back to life, of beauty and expectancy, of wonder even in the tiniest of vessels.

And so I pay attention.

Because each day is its own kind of miracle.