The Maiden

Spring can be fickle and hard to pin down. A wild, unpredictable Maiden, as fleeting as the warms days that she gifts. Her power is in apparent chaos. Flooding her world with rain, sleet and unsure footing. Lighting the sky with bursts of electric fire and then doling out the sun like a sweet wafer of hope. She does not settle for lion or lamb. She is both. And everything in between. Some days the winds have less bite than in winter. On other days, the needles are there, reminders of our insignificance. Moments of glorious sunshine beckon grass forth, followed by days of assault, leaving us worn all over again. Until at last, she gazes upon her subjects. Bright green grass, flowers of every color, trees opening their hearts to the world… She wipes the mud from her brow, determines her work to complete, and drinks sweet nectar with the bees.