Ellen's Tea Party

A collab post to commemorate the arrival of spring!

This post is best viewed either on the app or in browser, as it is too long for email.

Hello everyone, I hope that you’re all doing well and are enjoying the early days of spring! To celebrate the new season I decided to ask all the amazingly talented writers on here to come to my tea party — a place where we can sip at tea, nibble on cake, and discuss the joy and hopefulness that spring brings when it comes to visit. It has been a long winter and as spring is my favourite season I thought that it deserved a a warm welcome!

It has been an absolute pleasure to have receieved so many submissions, each piece is truly wonderful and I thank all of the lovely people who have taken part! I’d also like to thank the amazing MackaroniArt who I commissioned to create some dividers for this post. They are gorgeous and you can check out her shop below if you’d like to show her some support!

So have your favourite drink ready and some mini sandwiches to snack on, sit back, and enjoy reading!

the morning sun — blueberrytuna

There is a fox on the road.

Not the romantic kind of fox.
Not folklore, amber-eyed, cleverness in moonlight.
Just a fox-shaped stillness on asphalt.
Like someone paused a video at the worst possible frame.
Cars slow down the way people do
When they see something they can’t quite categorise as tragedy yet.
 
The morning is pale.

Cold enough that your breath shows up to the conversation.
Someone gets out.
A woman, I think.
Coat that looks like it’s been through a few winters already.
The kind of person who probably
Apologises to chairs she bumps into.
The kind of person with a smile
To rival that of the morning sun.
 
She walks into traffic
In the calmest way imaginable.
No drama, no music swelling.
Just the quiet authority of someone who has decided
That this moment belongs to them.
 
She kneels.
And the fox is suddenly small.
Smaller than the idea of a fox.
She picks it up
The way you pick up something fragile.
Or maybe something loved.
Or maybe both.
 
The world does not pause for this.
Cars keep breathing exhaust.
A crow somewhere offers commentary.
But something ancient, 
Something bureaucratically spiritual
Clocks in for its shift.
Like: oh.
A crossing.
And someone needs an escort.
 
Spring is already rehearsing in the background.
You can tell.
The grass at the edge of the road
Has that bright green optimism
Like it forgot winter even happened.
Buds on branches,
Tight little fists of future leaves.
 
The woman carries the fox
Off the road, into the field
Where things are allowed to end properly.
No audience.
Just soil
And wind
And last year’s leaves
Turning slowly into next year's flowers.
 
I think about how strange it is
That the world is always doing this.
Something stops.
Something begins.
The same dirt handling both jobs.
 
She sets the fox down.
Not gently exactly, but carefully,
Like returning a book to the shelf.
 
And the morning keeps happening.
Birds practicing their spring songs,
Like school kids.
Very enthusiastic,
A little off-key.
Cars drive away.
The road forgets.
But the earth doesn’t.
The earth takes notes.
Somewhere under the surface,
Roots are already writing their quiet
Essays about continuation.
And the fox, 
Or what the fox becomes,
Is part of that now.

i don’t have spring where i’m from, we mostly have just a yearlong summer with a slight monsoon in the middle. i do love the idea of spring though! i love the thought of all the flowers in full bloom!

---

Jasmine on the breath of my grandmother — Fawn ୨୧

Jasmine lingers softly on my grandmothers breath,
Around her wrists and the behind her ears 
It is sweet and kind and makes the air smoother to breathe 
As I read the stories written in the folds of her hands 
We sit in her backyard
Rolling grape leaves like her mother taught her 
And her mother taught her 
On the fence my grandfather's vines are blooming shyly 
Ushering in growth and change 
I watch him tend to them
Bathing them gently with a watering can older than I am

These days have since passed for me, but I know 
That with time I will get them back
I must help my father in the garden 
He is growing flowers that will climb up our fence.

This spring, what I’m most excited for is to GRADUATE!!! Only high school, but still! Also, I am super excited to have more time to focus on my writing. I’d really really love to be able to finally finish editing my collection of poems, but even if I can’t finish, I’ll still be very happy just to have extra time to spend with my work.

“Winger speech” — JustSomeMustard

Look I understand that our final is tomorrow
And some would say we are on borrowed time
And those people would be correct, yes - we 
Are but that should not discourage us from 
Using these few hours left, together, to 
Synchronize like corporations who eat us
Alive or those douchey guys who play 
Foosball in the cafeteria, they may be 
Loud, they may be douchey, but they
Are proud of the game and help each
Other out in the thick of it - as much as 
It pains me to say this we need to be 
More like them as their energy - which
Is unquestionably annoying is also 
Exactly what we need to get more 
Than just a C and this is coming from me
Someone who thrives off C’s but a C 
Is not good enough for Annie who consistently
Does what she can to save this bottomless
Pit called Greendale
It is our duty to make sure that Shirley does
Not fail as not only does she own a sandwich
Shop she is also a mother and devout Christian
Whose belief in Jesus Christ helps makes us 
Better and expose us to our own morality 
We are students of Greendale Community College
A place that immediately admits you as soon
As you walk onto the quad, not sure of the legality
Of that but Greendale is our home - it is where 
On that very first day I declared us a community
And we still are - so what do you say?
Abed Nadir, our shaman 
Troy Barnes, our athletic star 
Or Britta Perry, our impassioned activist
Who fights for the rights of all of us
We need to stop making a fuss about the time
We don’t have and utilize the time we do 
To study technology
Before it studies us
And if the movies Abed watch are any indication
We need to be ahead of it 
That will benefit not only us - but everyone

As a condiment Mustard doesn’t get to experience the seasons often. But they are excited for spring. Being able to take in nature during a nice picnic while the bees buzz around. That sounds like a perfect day.

A Late Bloomer’s Guide to Spring — Serena

On growing at your own pace

I adore spring. It’s the time of year when hope is in abundance; you can feel it in the air, drifting gently through the breeze. The equinox turns from darkness to light, and the earth becomes a child again. Everywhere, nature is tentatively taking its first steps, learning its own name. Suddenly, you see leaves on trees you could have sworn weren’t there yesterday and flowers in places where it seemed like nothing would grow. But the thing is, not all flowers bloom in April. Amongst all the blooms, there’s always one bud that needs a little more time, a little more patience and a lot more love.

I’ve always been a late bloomer; I started university later, I struggle to make friends and have yet to experience a relationship. I reach one milestone only to find that everyone else has already moved on to another. Sometimes it feels as if I’ve been born behind and have spent my entire life trying to catch up. I know I shouldn’t compare myself to others, after all, what flower compares itself to the one next to it? But it can be hard not to when you grow at a slower pace. It’s said that we measure our lives through seasons, and that spring is the season of youth. If that’s true, then I wonder, what if I don’t bloom in spring? Can I still bloom in other seasons, or will I just wither away?

We seem to think that life, like nature, must follow a timeline. We sow our seeds in spring, water them diligently in summer and expect a harvest in Autumn, but life rarely works that way. Sometimes, despite all our plans, hard work and best efforts, nothing seems to come to fruition. While everyone else seems to be moving upward, it feels as if you’ve reached a dead end. I know how tempting it is to give up, but how many plants have we thought we killed only to find them come back to life when we least expected it? Just because growth is not always visible doesn’t mean it isn’t happening underground. Often, we can’t see how far every drop of water, every ounce of sunlight travels. What if all the delays, disappointments and setbacks are actually preparing the soil for your most beautiful season yet?

It’s tempting to think of this season as the prelude to life. An interval before the peak of summer, but I believe no other season better captures the possibilities and complexities of life than spring. Some days she is warm and gentle, and other days she feels as cold as midwinter. To me, spring is the only season that truly mirrors the natural ebb and flow of life’s experiences; joy and sorrow, success and failure, each day is as unpredictable as the next. On days when the chill in the breeze is felt a little too keenly, and the drizzle of rain doesn’t seem to let up, it’s easy to become impatient for the warmth of summer, but this period of growth is not to be rushed; it is the most formative part of life. Just as plants need rain, each experience, no matter how bitter, strengthens our roots, nourishing us, preparing us for the sunshine that is to come.

Often, my life feels like a tightly closed rosebud. People tell me that I need to climb, extend my reach and get more sun, but I don’t know how to tell them. I think I was dug up too early. Their roots are strong, anchored in good soil, but mine are uncertain, and I’m still finding solid ground. While they were enjoying the sun, I was weathering storms. Maybe that’s why I haven’t quite been able to grow as I should.

But I know that the beauty of a flower isn’t diminished by the time it takes to grow. This spring, as new life slowly begins to emerge, I can feel the petals of my life start to unfurl, and I know someday, when the time is right,

I will bloom.

I’m most excited for the nice weather and being able to spend warm sunny afternoons reading in the park.

(Road)Signs of Spring - Toni

It’s March and I’m learning to drive. Spring is around the corner and I’m learning to drive around them without clipping the pavement. I swipe on my driving theory app trying to memorise road signs: circular signs are Orders and triangular signs are Warnings - who knew? Along the road the once bare branches turn yellow with blossom and I spot lambs laying in a passing field.

Spring is often discussed in future tense, signs of spring, maybe because winter is so miserable and spring is something reliable to look forward to. Spring is a universal truth that things will get better.

It’s as though we expect the trees to stay bare, the sky to remain grey, the sigh of relief we collectively let out when we see the inevitable brightening of the sky suggests there was an alternative, when there never was. Try all you might to make humans into cogs, part of a bigger machine, but as long as someone points out how it’s still light at 5pm, we’ll all be okay. Because that’s how it always has been. And I count myself lucky to witness another cycle of the seasons, and the magical anticipation in the softening March breeze.

What I’m most excited about for spring: cliché but feeling the sun on my skin, some concerts I have lined up, and being able to wear the skirts and tops that haven’t seen the light of day in months - and not having to hide them under a big old coat!

The Moon and The Emperor: A Tale of the Spring Equinox — J. Khanna ☆

“terza rima” - an Italian poetry rhyming scheme in which the middle line of each tercet (stanza of three lines) is the rhyme of the next tercet’s first and third lines; created by Dante Alighieri in the 14th century.

In the tradition of tarot, each zodiac sign is associated with a card.

“The Moon” is the card of Pisces.

“The Emperor” is the card of Aries.

And for one night each year, their signs touch.

On this ephemeral eve in March,

the sun exits to let planets align

so that the celestial curtain may part.


Her robes trail in twilight silk, so fine.

Treading the heavens on slippers of cloud,

twin fish splash amidst her skirt’s design.


Billowing sleeves with lacy layers abound.

A tiara of pearls gleams—gift from her sister, the sea.

For on this night, she removes her shroud.


Asteroids astonish at their queen with glee.

An eager smile grows, traipsing with haste.

She mustn’t be late; she has someone to meet.


Spying her end, spectral feet float into place.

Gown sweeping behind along the grassy knoll,

periwinkles and daffodils sprout along her trail with grace.


The ground itself quivers when he spies her astral stole.

On his hill flanked in rams, there lay a path just for her,

for he waits three hundred suns for her to make this stroll.


He rises from the crimson throne, cloak of velvet trimmed with fur.

Head lifted high, hair peeks out beneath his crown of gold,

grin brightening at the sound of Greetings, my good sir.


My darling, my light, in your absence, I grow old!

His strides quicken, impatient, no longer composed,

nearly falling to his knees, her cosmic nature a sight to behold.


She stands before him, her gloved hands now unenclosed,

unsheathing from her sleeves a glowing, soulful orb.

She places it in his steady palms, her ownership now deposed.


Watch over our children, this season is yours,

give them strength, give them ambition,

bless the new beginnings they adore.


The emperor nods, solemnly aware of his mission.

As always, my dear. You led them through reflection and respite.

The dreams you have gifted them will not fall to attrition.


Her grooved face falters, bittersweet; he understands without her expressing it.

Such is the wheel of time, but our love carries them through the else rough transition.

Thus, a softened gaze and knowing smile, which he is always proud to elicit.


Our night together brings the flowers, he utters in addition.

The rabbits and butterflies—it’s their time in this cycle.

We all have our seasons. Our children are ready for their next expedition.


Now, just as they ring in spring’s revival, may you and I celebrate your fleeting arrival?

Their timeless hands touch, palm to palm.

The moon sighs with content, oh my love, your charms still remain unrivaled.


Until the dawn returns to shatter this psalm,

the mythic couple rushes off, gleeful and giggling,

as he whisks her to his castle to usher in rebirth and calm.


As the equinox, for one night, again joins these lovers of spring,

therein lies the tale of the moon and her king.

As a March Pisces, the spring equinox has always marked the new year for me more than January 1st; the first couple months still feel like a shedding of the previous year while in hibernation. Now is the time that I feel not only motivated but equipped to carry out resolutions. For this year, I’m most excited to spend more time in nature and devote more time to learning watercolor! Wishing everyone a rejuvenating season!

Soft launch into spring — Em

I’m here! I’m focussed. My phone is on Do Not Disturb and I’m reading your words. I’m welling up at your vulnerability, at the beauty rooted in your brain, growing bold colourful flowers. I’m holding your hand across the picnic blanket, in the shade, and the sun in the distance is part of our picture too. We can feel its warmth and play in its shadows — welcome every moment of fresh spring breeze.

I’m here. We unpack pretty woven baskets and eat with delighted hunger. We’ve brought each other’s favourite snacks with smug, knowing smiles — our little plastic plates canvases for food mosaics. Let’s be generous artists, you say. I’m here. We laugh, we discover each other, and we wonder about the sky. Clouds tell stories and we silently listen, like we listened to songs, eyes earnest and wide.

I’m here. When we must fold the plaid blanket, our fingertips brushing as we do. Pack our leftovers, throw away rubbish. We part ways and walk in opposite directions, roads decorated differently. But I’m with you, I think, when I’m out of sight. At least, you’re still with me. I recall your rose garden words, your kind freckled face, and the way you cackled as I spilt Pepsi down my shirt. I remember our promises, one of them being that this isn’t replaceable. You’re not replaceable, and because we decided that today was important, now it forever will be.

I’m here, unapologetically, with hope hovering around me in teal like dragonflies. Hope breathes in the form of blue running water, refusing to dry up. And until our next intimate picnic, know we can still meet somewhere.

I’m here! I’m focussed. I’m hopeful, reading your words.

I’m most looking forward to all the flowers that are going to bloom, and getting to sit on the grass with the sun shining on my face ☀️

Birdsong — Joshy

As the trees begin to breathe freely again, and their branches start to climb back to full blossom.

As the sun begins to come out of hibernation, and its little waves of heat bless our faces.

As the birds and the bees begin to arrive in the thousands, and following them is the little insects that love to sneak around.

Jumping up out of bed to stop it. “That damn alarm”, you shout in your head. But as you turn to slam your flopped hand over the phone, a smack of realisation hits. It wasn’t the phone, you never set an alarm, it’s the birds singing you awake as spring begins to roll in.

As you drag your feet, then legs, and finally head out of bed you sit, half slumped over the edge of the slightly lumpy bed. The curtains are slightly gaped in the middle, you only notice because a ray of, quite possibly the brightest bit, the sun hits your one open eye.

Pulling an oversized shirt over your head, you peer into the garden as you see the culprit in charge of the early morning wake up call. A small robin is sat looking up at the sun, back turned away from you as if to say, “job well done”. As annoyed as you were at first, seeing this cheeky little robin begins to lift your spirit slightly.

The sun begins to loom over your house with joy and a smile is plaguing your half-dazed face. “Spring is finally here”, you whisper with child-like glee.

I am looking forward to seeing the sun rise earlier in the day and seeing the birds fly gracefully over the rows of houses.

It smells of spring — MackaroniArt

It smells of spring
and hardwood floors

with yellow paw prints
tracked indoors

It smells of fresh air
and methodist resurrection

April showers
and earths water retention

Tulip limbs
and plywood attics

with cardboard boxes
of moth ball eaten

easter baskets
with little blue ribbon

tied round’ their waists
Synthetic grass

from 2009
And plastic eggs

broken in half
Molded candy inside

What a prize!
A peep lasts a lifetime

Those indestructible suckers
of fluffy yellow body

It smells of spring
when I remember I am somebody

It’s a simple thing, but I’m looking forward to the sunlight. To being able to go outside without a jacket and wear short sleeves. I can’t wait to get some vitamin D!

the last flower to bloom in ankara — Pelin

the air passing through my nose is getting warmer,
 it’s chilling in a very pleasing way,
 like it’s always been.

it’s the same old tree,
 but i swear it looks different today,
 the prettiest i have ever seen.

speaking of pretty,
 how long will you stay with me?

believe it or not,
 i will miss you when you are gone.

i don’t want to see the sun
 that i grew up seeing;
 i just want today’s rays
 to reflect off my skin.

i didn’t get everything i could have had,
 we didn’t watch the flowers bloom yet.
 if we ever did,
 i wouldn’t want it to end.

i know you will be here,
 let me stay a little longer.

i think the thing i am most looking forward to this spring is to see flowers, taking longer walks, and simply enjoying my last semester at uni!

The Same season, a Different Kind of Joy — One Day I'll Tell You

My favourite season when I was younger, used to be, spring.
It isn’t anymore.

When I was younger, the happiness of spring was obvious.
I loved the warm days when I lay on the grass, watching the clouds drift by, trying to shape them into something; an alligator, a dinosaur. Sometimes I got lucky, and I would squeal out with joy.

I loved going to the rivers near my home, swinging from the tire swing, the air rushing past me. I loved rolling eggs down hills with my family, running through fields with no thoughts other than pure bliss.

It felt like something out of The Famous Five. Effortless and bright. 

Now, I find myself drawn more to autumn as I grow older.
I enjoy the quiet, the way the world seems to fold in on itself, demanding less of me.

But spring comes back.
It always does. 

And, in its return, that little girl gets to view the world once again.

Trees thrive again without hesitation, their branches filling with blossom. The air softens, and light lingers longer, stretching the evenings into something sacred.

It doesn’t ask whether it is my favourite.
It doesn’t need to be chosen to exist.

And maybe that is where its hopefulness lies.

Spring is about persistence, and the quiet, certain knowledge that things can begin again. 

The joy it offers me now is different from what it once was. It isn’t loud or immediate. Instead, it waits in smaller places. 

It is gentler, but it is still there.

Spring no longer needs to be my favourite season to remind me of happiness. It simply needs to arrive. To exist in its quiet, steady way.

And in doing so, it offers something I understand now in a way I couldn’t before:

That joy does not have to be chosen loudly to be real.

I am most looking forward to being kinder to myself this spring, and letting myself rest without shame <3

Spr-incoming — mad hatter

The daffodils bloomed today,
Like a phoenix from its ashes.
The yellow crowns beam at the sun
And repaired my deepest gashes.

Spring is on her way
Like a tired traveller.
She is eager to settle down,
At least until she resumes
Her adventure.

I leave today
Me and my chills will be on our way.
We'll both be another year older,
Till the next time it's colder.

I am most looking forward to getting to spend more time in the garden with my dog in spring. I have this bench at the back of my garden where I love to sit and read or write. It’s where I get most of my ideas and the sun makes it look so peaceful.

table for one — sash 🎀

sunlight streaming through fresh leaves greets me and asks 
'a table for one?' 

the gentle breeze stirring through the grass shows me to my seat. 
i've heard this is a hidden gem, a spot that's only recently reopened.
i take a seat and feel the sun kiss every inch of my exposed skin.

it's too bright outside to use my phone, 
instead i peruse a menu of my thoughts. 
the menu is seasonal and ever-changing.

they don't play music here, at this outdoor establishment, 
so i listen.

i listen to birds singing 
i listen to people talking 
i listen to children laughing 
and dogs barking.

spring takes a seat opposite me, 
brimming with energy and new life.
it feels like seeing an old friend.

i order reflection to start 
and think about the season i have just entered.

she cocks her head to the side and asks 
'what's new with you?' 
as she savours a chilled sip of wine during our much-anticipated catch-up.

then we order our main course: 
a generous serving of hope.

it arrives swiftly, just as i'm appreciating how the grass feels against my bare feet.

hope doesn't arrive as a dish.
instead it feels like a warm hug surrounding me.

spring smiles gently 
'if i can bloom again after a long winter, so can you'.

there's too much hope to eat in one sitting 
so i wrap some of it up and put it in my tote bag for later.

spring asks 
'do you have room for dessert?'

i tip my head back and let the sunlight dance across my face. 
'yes, but nothing sweet'.

a small serving of letting go arrives.
i've been told large portions are harder to digest, 
so i will savour it.

i will let go of what's served me during the long winter, 
and for years before. 
i will let go of what is no longer meant for me.

'starting over is always hard' 
spring hums
'but it's always worth it'.

lunchtime draws to a close. 
i stand up and put my shoes back on.

i walk home 
full of reflection and hope 
with the aftertaste of letting go lingering on my lips.

Spring is a time for new beginnings. Nature reminds us that we can start over if we choose to; flowers start to bloom, the daylight lasts longer, and the breeze seems to whisper gentle words of reassurance. After a long winter, spring also symbolises hope. My poem is a message of hope for anyone who needs it right now — you can bloom again!

It Takes Time — poppy ⋆˚࿔

It’s Spring again. You feel it before you see it. The air softens, evenings start to stretch just a little longer.

The trees wake up. Blossoms start to show, white deepening into pink, each one slowly growing into themselves. They lean on one another as they grow, settling into the new season.

All except one.

At the far end, where the ground dips and the fence sits slightly uneven, there is a tree that hasn’t followed along. Its branches are still bare, tracing lines along the sky.

You could walk past it and not think twice. You might not notice it at all.

But if you linger, there are small signs of growth. The ends of the branches weren’t as thin as they used to be. Something was shifting but slowly. There was nothing missing from this tree but something was holding it back.

Time moves on. The days lengthen. One morning in the middle of spring, a single bloom appears.

Then another.

Then another.

Not everything at once. The tree takes its time to bloom. Revealing its colour little by little each day. It took its time for when it felt ready.

And when the tree finished blooming, it didn’t feel like it was catching up.

It felt it arrived exactly when it was supposed to 💛

What I’m most excited for about spring is seeing all the flowers again while travelling down the long road to my hometown!! I feel like spring gives me a feeling of hope and reconnection particularly with nature so I’m really excited to explore and go for heaps of walks in the trees!

The Promises of Spring — David Schramm

The tulips have not come up yet. Spring has sprung, but not in full bloom. It is still rainy, it is still dreary. The wind is cold, and the skies are gray.

Still, though, spring is here, and there is no stopping it. The other day, I saw some Mallard ducks landing in a pond by the highway. They have returned from their vacation.

Spring brings with it the promise of new beginnings. When the soil smells like hope, and the rain washes away the travails of winter, we begin to believe that anything is possible. We see the flowers sprouting up, and decide that now is the time to rise up, too.

Best of all, baseball season is around the corner. That most American of games sprouts just like the flowers, and the grass fields begin to turn a more vibrant shade of green. I wish I still played baseball; it is a game of unending hope. Anything can happen in a game.

Spring, like baseball, is ultimately about hope. It will soon turn into summer, but for now, we can enjoy this time of transition and new beginnings. Let us exult in the promises of spring!

I am most looking forward to hearing the birds sing again. I am also looking forward to no longer being cold.

A Wonderful Spring Has Sprung — mademoiselle

Spring has arrived.

‘March winds and April showers

Bring forth May flowers.

In April’s sweet month,

When leaves begin to spring,

Little lambs skip like fairies,

And birds build and sing.’

I’m wearing a blue cardigan with white clouds and a big smile on my face. This cardigan was a gift from the bazaar in Türkiye—a gift from someone I no longer speak to. People come and go like the waves of the sea, some stay or leave seashells in their wake. That’s life I guess. The softness of the fabric and the coolness of the breeze coming from the window are a sign that a new season has arrived. Persephone is back to her mother. Demeter’s tears have dried. Or maybe not since it has been raining, but I assume they are happy tears. When I arrive at the beach, I smell the food from the food trucks, I hear the children laugh as they play with their kites, and I see a big vast body of water we call the ocean. It’s still cold now so I’m only toe-dipping in the water. I roll up my jeans and start to walk towards the shore. I watch people and make up stories of them in my head. I hope no one catches me staring for too long. I forget how big seagulls are when I haven’t seen them in a while. Their white feathers and grey wings spread wide as they fly over the sea trying to catch a fish.

I look for shells in the sand. I only take one small one for memory, careful to not ruin the ecosystem. I spot the perfect one. I have been carrying it with me ever since I found it for good luck.

Spring comes in to change us. That’s possibly why I both love it and dread it. I am never the same person I was before spring. It is also when the new year sinks in. Summer comes after it and nearly now the year will be over. This year is really out to get me but I try and somehow, that is enough. I didn’t try last year because the pain was too great. No, no I did. I tried every day until I realised that it wasn’t working anymore. Now it works better. I have friends to help me. I have a dream I’m after. I have a sea to look at. I have a seashell in the palm of my right hand that will bring me luck wherever I go. The man fishing beside me has found his dinner. I am okay at this moment. I am okay. I will be okay. The waves are absorbing all of my problems from my sand sunk feet to heal me and spread the joy it brought from other places to me.

Your nimble feet make prints in my sands

You have done good for yourselves

Oceania - Björk

“The song is written from the point of view of the ocean that surrounds all the land and watches over the humans to see how they are doing after millions of years of evolution. It sees no borders, different races or religion which has always been at the core of these.” - Björk

i look forward to walking by the beach, especially at golden hour and people watching. i notice the ease that spring seems to bring and the blooming flowers with a range of colours, from blue to pink. it’s all so beautiful. the weather is not too cold, not too hot, just perfect. the lightness of spring is my favourite thing about it.

Sandals for a sunny evening — Otto's Library

As spring comes, I open my closet - 
a set of different lives to choose from,
I put on a dress that is softer on the skin and still yet kinder on my soul.

In the mirror, it looks like - 
like the years have aged me,
like I understand my mother but she still taunts me in my dreams,
like I have forgotten the very first boy I loved but I still remember his birthday, 
but the komorebi light hits me, then I'm six again on a park bench and,
the world is full of possibility.

My music teacher lives through the songs he taught me, 
A childhood friend visits me like forgiveness, 
and I learn about love through the flowers I give myself, 
There is a long way to go but I don't have to walk repenting for a hundred miles through the desert,
because now my sandals match the dress and the sunny evening.

I am looking forward for forgiveness from myself, for scars to close and most importantly for flowers, so to fill the world and my room with them.

It’s a spring thing — ellen ☆

The rain is hammering so hard
I think the force might break the windows.
My feet splash in puddles
and mud flings itself up my legs and shoes.
Two cars have skidded off the road,
the surface so slick it’s no match for brakes.
Water drips off my umbrella,
it’s not long until it soaks the floor of the bus.
The sky is grey and miserable,
hooded figures shivering at the bus stop makes me feel even more so.
Minutes, hours, days,
all drone on and on.
Gone are memories of pink wellingtons,
lost to my growing age and the passing of time.

Rain, rain, go away
and come back another day.
I wish as hard as I can,
hoping for an end for dark days and darker nights.
When I wake up the next morning
everything has become very different.
The sky is magnificently transformed,
full of scintillating pinks brushstroked on a canvas of bright oranges and pale yellows.
Minutes, hours, days,
I never want them to end.
Gone is the doom and gloom of yesterday,
and instead the world is waking up.

I’m looking forward to the weather warming up (even though I love the rain) and to see the flowers and tress start to bloom again! Waking up to birdsong after such a long winter is a welcome relief.

Thank you for reading! I hope that this collab has made you excited about spring! Let me know your favourite things about spring and what you’re looking forward to most in the comments! And thank you again for all the talented people who took part in this project, reading your work has made me even more excited for this season than I ever have been before! <3