spring flowers - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
When the weather lifts to that warmer note, the flowers come. In all that expanse of green they have the courage to be anything else, to stand out with a beauty that draws me close. And if that feeling is a cage, let me dwell within it for it feels the same as the wind and the open sky; a belonging that reaches inside to cradle the heart. I watch them bloom, the white bells, pure in any dark night, shining at the rising of the sun all the while the light is given. They are an art unrivalled by the works of man, my definition of perfect born of emotion rather than the convolution of subjective thought.
Under the melting snow there are fragments of colour, a vibrancy from petals that appear so delicate at first glance. Yet there they are, healthy and entire beneath the crystalline water flakes. They are ready to be beautiful as soon as the warm weather comes to turn their cocoon into soft water. They are tenacity of the patient kind, the kind that holds on rather than battling that which will pass of its own accord.
The spring flowers ignite an inner smile, that kind that burns warm and long. They are as candle flames, their colours as light in darkness, illuminating our world after the long wintry cold.
The spring flowers give by existing, by being part of nature's song. They give without losing essence or strength, as only natural love can. This is far from the realm of mathematics or physical things - it is instead where giving is a positive force for all, infinite because it also feeds the self. The flowers command a strength, a fragility, a vibrancy, a soft fragrance. They come as children do, boldly unique, born to grow in their own way, to their own selves be true. They come as the kind of smiles that reach to the eyes. They come to help us to see with our hearts, for a love is the light that turns cold reason into an ever-branching and deeply rooted joy. So when I see the new buds of spring; I see a hope returned by heaven's request.
The spring flowers are chaos in perfectly choreographed order, they are art and science, yet also with a magic that reaches to the core. In the silence of the woodland they are the song for the eyes, the brilliance this world needs. Even under cloud they are sunshine, a deeper hue yet there in full form.
The spring flowers could be a scene from any art gallery, in any city or fireplace mantle. They come for every child in every place, without notion of virtue or deservingness. They come to adorn the earth, to simply be, to drink in the sunlight and rain, to grow and have their time to live. There is an eternalness in such unmeasured time, forever in a moment, and perhaps that's what I feel when they blossom, what keeps me so present.
The humble dandelion is the gold amid the green, a little sunshine close to the earth, born to shine. It has a beauty equal to any other, with leaves to fill the salad bowl and seeds for the bellies of the birds. It is the clock of my childhood daydreams, the watercolour of long ago joy, as magical as any fairy wand.
I have never seen spring flowers that appeared to kiss the sky so boldly as those scarlet tulips. They raised themselves from the earth as if they were some magic trick turning the timid earth into steady and brilliant flames.