This afternoon, I went for a walk at the Central Park. I captured these lovely little flowers, which i believe are white crocus.

This is beautiful.

Spring arrives on whispered light,
gold poured gently through the sky,
touching earth with tender hands
and teaching sleeping roots to try.
Blossoms loosen from their dreams,
petals breathing blush and cream,
while daffodils in yellow gowns
step brightly from the winter’s seam.
The air is sweet with second chances,
cool but warm with promise too—
as if the world has turned a page
and written hope in shades of dew.
Birdsong stitches dawn today,
a silver thread of joy set free;
and every breeze that lifts your hair
says, “Begin again with me.”
Spring is not just bloom and sun—
it’s courage wrapped in fragile things,
a quiet heart that dares to beat
after frost has clipped its wings.
So open wide your waiting soul,
let light fall softly where it may—
for even the longest winter yields
to springtime’s gentle, brave ballet.