Spring is in the air

"Spring is in the air,
Spring is everywhere"

Autumn is a beutiful season. Mr. Behrman paints his masterpiece on every leaf, as it turns from dark green to pale yellow. Even pale yellow outshines any other colour this time of the year, with a light touch of green passing in its veins. And as the wind trespasses, the tree withers its final avioli to nudity. When a tree widows its faded emaralds, it reveals the secrets it hid with its voluptous branches till now. Everytime, the most I was rewarded, was a better look at my neighbours, not that it was any exciting. But imagining a whole forest of autumned-trees, how enchanting it would be to walk barefoot on a carpet of crisp cackle. To hear the russle of the birds building nests with dead twigs. To just lie and look at the black withered tree silhouted against the blue sky and get the leaves tangled in your hair. To smell nature's very own potpourri. I am getting carried away to nowhere. To imagine is one thing, to feel it, is an ultimatum. Nature has its own formula to entertain us. Even if we do summon frustration at its bareness, spring springs in.

The tree pouts out infant green buds, in pride, in arrogance to prove us wrong. What a contrast of dead brown branches and fresh green leaves. And flowers, each petal that blushes at sunlight, enhancing its hues. The light wafts of fragrance of fresh smelling grass, glissening with dew, that fills our mind and keeps it afloat on the clouds of eternal afluence of breezed thoughts. The winds swinging in with its own precious guarded secrets, lightly kissing my cheek, stirring up goosebumps, but faintly. Butterflies appear almost quickly to flutter in and out duelling for each flower. Yes, spring is in.

A busy world of nature that carries on side by side to our own cemented lives, without much chaos, unnoticed.