The eager tingling tounge of Spring lapped away at the stark, colorless blanket of snow, exposing thin sheets of ice beneath. I remained frozen, but you, unlike the upcoming season, refused to help me engage in a much needed melt-down. I know now that you knew of my newfound talent for shipping well meaning medlers off on a one-way cruise to the island of remorse. But then, with my diluted concience and deluded sense of self-entitlement, I was dumbfounded at your seeming lack of mercy. I recal glowering at you, stare so withering as to wilt even evergreens that remained unscathed through countless blizzards. You set out a set of boundaries and stood firmly rooted, like those trees; you did not succumb to my tantrums. In spite of them, you were at peace; the small piece of satisfaction I sought through spite became meaningless. Warm tendrils of sunlight coaxed reluctant pods from their hibernation; as they yawned, stretching green sprigs skyward, I emerged from my self-inflicted isolation as well. In retrospect, I concede that your lack of help was just what I thought it was not; it was due to the stubborness surging through your veins, that I relinquished my vain conceit.
