Today, I actually believed that spring may have been flirting with me like the coy, mature woman who knows that she will eventually, willingly give of herself... but not yet. Not yet. Trillium appear like a flash of lace, crocuses like a hint of bold lipstick. The breeze like a soft, warm touch with just the barest hint of a cool demeanor. She flirts, shows just a brief hint of her skills then slips away into the cold of the night. Will I see her again tomorrow? Or will she stay away for days on end, taunting me with her diffidence?
She is skilled at the game of creating want and need. Building desire with her absence until despair is just around the corner, and then she will approach me again, taunting me with a hint of her perfume; Hyacinth, Jonquil, Daphne. The sweet, delicate fragrances of cherry blossom and new grass. Wafting on a soft breeze that follows a morning rain, warmed by the sun breaking through the canopy of cumulus clouds.
I see her colors just beginning dust the trees. Bright green haze seen out of the corner of my eye, but hiding from my direct gaze. She is such a flirt, offering herself, then hiding away as if to remind me, "Not yet. Not yet."