Spring lunges like a child in rainboots towards a puddle. The dark reflection of the sky shatters; something within us breaks. We turn our gazes upwards, towards the wind, towards that scent and stir of movement. One tree bursts into full and indecent bloom, while those around it merely blush. Tiny flowers peek up at us through the ribcage of a roadkilled deer, picked quite clean once the snow released it.