All seasons are good, but spring is special season. This is the time of the awakening of nature, the birth of a new life, the time of hope and faith in the best. The frosts recede, the day grows longer, the deep blue of the winter sky is replaced by a transparent weightless azure. It is time to start its own right, laying a bridge between winter and summer.
In the mornings, it happens, the night ice crunches under your feet, but the air already smells of warmth. The timid rays of the sun rush to melt the snow caps, still adorning the hemp. And the tops of the hills were covered with the first thawed patches. It is there that the yellow fluffy flowers of the mother-and-stepmother are about to lift their heads to meet the sun. And as if in response to the burning flower lanterns the sun’s rays will brighten up brighter, streamlets of thawed water will flow down the slopes of the hills. Only with the onset of nocturnal twilight will cover the slight tingling not having time
to melt snow. This winter does not want to give up positions, trying to keep the power in its thorny frosty hands.
In the city, the onset of spring is even more acute. Heated by the sun, the houses give off heat, and the night frosts recede. Kidney buds swell on branches. It seems, even a moment, and their peel will burst, letting loose the tender green of the first leaves. The first touching grass stalks appear on the lawns. A flock of restless sparrows chirps deafeningly, and the damp spring air carries their merry voices away in the neighborhood. The spring drops ring with bells, and the fringe of icicles sparkles with crystal.
The migratory birds, hurrying to the nesting grounds in their native lands, were pulled from the south. Far from the nature of city residents with tenderness peering into the blue of the spring sky, listening to the alarming crane of cranes. Right now I want to leave the stone jungle, go to the woods to have time to hold in my hands a completely cold cloud of wet sticky snow falling apart with transparent grains of ice. A day or two will pass, and there will be no trace of winter
in the courtyards. Only outside the city you can see here and there white spots of snowdrifts, diminishing with every moment. But here the whiteness of the snow will soon be replaced by the blossoming snowdrops.
And here are the first messengers of the fact that frosts will not return. These are silver balls of pussy-willow, similar to tiny shaggy beasts, clothed branches. So, very soon the leaves in the trees will dissolve, the air will be filled with the scent of greenery. The first spring rain will wash away the city mud accumulated during the winter, give trees and bushes with life-giving moisture. Spring will win its next unconditional victory.