Outside, the world is still mostly brown and grey, but look closer. The tips of branches are swollen with tiny fists of green. Crocus blades push through the half-frozen soil like needles through cloth. A single purple bloom, brave and reckless, cups a droplet of last night's rain.
And you, standing in your thin shirt, squinting at the sun—you are almost yourself again, too. seasons spring
You step out without a coat for the first time since October. The air smells of wet earth and something sweeter—pear blossoms, maybe, or just the promise of them. A breeze lifts your hair, not to bite your cheeks, but to remind you: you survived the dark. You made it through. Outside, the world is still mostly brown and