I used to think spring was just a polite way of saying “mud season with optimism.”

Now I sit by my pond while I write and watch the ducks like they’re running a very serious board meeting about absolutely nothing. They arrive, they argue, they float off like they’ve resolved world peace, and I’m supposed to focus on deadlines.

Somewhere along the way, spring stopped being messy and started being magic. The mud is still there, but now it feels like proof; everything is waking up again, including me.

It’s officially my second favorite season after fall. Not because I changed, exactly… but because I finally slowed down enough to notice what was always happening right in front of me: animals returning like old friends, flowers showing off like they’ve been rehearsing all year, and me, just lucky enough to be watching.