Spring wriggles free of Old Man Winter’s grasp like a taste of lime and honey in afternoon tea. The perfect elixir to chase away those blues I see. Her warriors, the fuzzy yellow bumble bees, make sweet music in the garden over by the sea. Humming, buzzzzzzzing workers in groups of two and three. Oh Spring, Spring. She anoints the trees with gentle rains until we watch them explode in various shades of green. Spring, my imaginary friend. We’re kindred spirits, waiting until the time is right. Your scent beckons, ripe in renewal and the riches of the earth — a plea, an invitation to come out and play. Is it time?