As I write this, the snow is mostly melted, the sun is shining, and it's 50 degrees at 10 am. Spring, finally.
Don't get me wrong. It's not like full-blown spring with budding leaves and daffodils. Not yet. But somehow, I can see the subtle changes that tell me my favorite season is not far away. A few patches of yellow-green are struggling amidst the brown grass. Roadside brambles have taken on a pale pastel hue, not quite green, but no longer the color of toast. It's time to push aside the layer of dead leaves and uncover the new life ready to grow. Time for new ideas and a fresh outlook.
In preparation for reading for my critique group next week, I am uncovering 10 pages that I wrote a month or two ago. I need to look at it anew and brush off the dead layer off. Hopefully, that will allow it to grow into the story it is supposed to be.