As the world turns, the first of Spring starts like clean pages turning in a book, waiting for a pencil's lead to press down on their blank canvas, carving it's new beginning. It's all the same as a somewhat different time ago; the currently scribbled on flipped past sheets were once blank, without the chaos and darkness that sat on it now. These new pages promised to be better, though, and there was no reason on earth not to believe them, besides the simple fact that in the past, the others, now ruined, had promised, too. That was gone and through, now, and this very moment would be past soon enough. What would this time bring?
As dew drops form on freshly cut grass, the sun comes around to welcome the new season. The people wonder, "How would this turn out?" Only time will tell, if this first of spring will follow the fate of the last, or if it will try to breakaway from the pattern.
