I was born in the springtime, every year. I can’t say that I’ve ever been much for New Year’s Eve. Sure, I’ll enjoy a glass of champagne and kiss in the beginning of the coming year, but for me, it doesn’t hold the magic of spring.

When the birds start to sing a little louder, the light lasts a little longer, the trees open up their branches in bloom, this, this for me, is intoxicating.

Our apricot and plum trees are covered in flowers. It is pure art. Coy as the Mona Lisa smile, the bloom says, well, I promised, and here I am. They just can’t stop smiling, and neither can I. I want to clean fresh, create new, enjoy every moment of this life. I am born again, for the first time and I too want to bloom.

The air smells not just clean, but sweet, and I feel lighter. Each step has just a bit of a bounce and I know none of it is to be wasted. I want, I need, to take that bounce and toss it against the page, the canvas, the hearts around me and follow it wherever it leads. I, we, get another fresh start. What a gift! I skip to the song of the birds, and know that I am new.