It cannot be stopped, will not be held back.
It pushes up from the southernmost places, unfurling in gold light.
The icecicles grow narrow.
The pond darkens at its center — liquid underneath, warming into wet.
Small green things force their way out of the earth and into the sun — believing, as they always do, that winter cannot last.
Oh, friends … I can promise you this:
Summer stops for nothing. ❤