It started slow. Like a lift of an eyebrow, or the waife of an eyelash on the breathe of exhale.

Heads were lowered and tucked with dark security, vowing to never come out. Curled in our hiding spots, we thought that we could exist; breathing in and out, but never lifting a foot to tred outside of our crafty secrets.

We didnt want to talk, to even whisper the thoughts that traveled through our hearts and minds – like that of a news ticker, clocking our very words as they ran along the bottom of the TV screens of our lives. We wouldn’t utter a single sound, but instead fastened our lips and pulled the covers over our heads, content and convinced that “It didnt really matter, and I’m better off inside here. Its soft and warm, and there are no other people to ask me questions or share my stories with. I think I’ll stay in here for quite some time.”

But then something happned one quite afternoon. As if we were bears waking from a winter hybernation, our eyelids lifted open to let in the first spring light. Suddenly our warm quite secrets didnt comfort us, but instead they began to make us aware of our tight quarters. They confined us not allowing us to breathe or stretch. We noticed that the sun was quite nice and quite warm, but in our little winter sleeping spots we were just out of the reach of the sun’s embrace.

The ticker clock at the bottom of our lives began to remind us more of a beating drum, like that of an marching band, calling us to fall in line in the parade of the world. The longer we listened to the pounding thud, the closer the walls came crashing in, reminding us that this space was not for us to sleep in any longer.

We were like spring seeds, pushing through the icy winter soil to be whips of flowers, proudly displaying the banner of Spring that was to be on its way. We heard the call, and we had to grow. We had to stretch from our winter’s sleeping place, and let our heads untuck from their quite nooks.

The light struck into our eyes and we were flooded with calling. To shed the sleeping, to push through the icy ground. To leap from the winter stifle, and rush into pastures of new green blades of grass.  Our paths were littered with small colored flowers, like confetti falling from the sky of a Spring Parade.

Our pace quickened as we drank in the crisp air. We were not the same. We had to run, to run like there was not a care in the world. To run like we would never tire. To run with arms and legs flailing, down hills of green pasture, the glory of spring’s climax rushing past our ever seeing eyes.

Winter could not hold us. Spring had called us. And we had to run.