Rebirth

The frozen, icy water reminds me of my frozen mind, of my very own icy existence. Then I see the grass. The rebirth of nature. The moisture of ice, the left over morning dew decorates the scenery, and now I too yearn to melt away my own ice. To shed my frozen skin, frozen brain, and to thrive and live in nature. To be so real, to relish my own natural self. The slight quacking of ducks justifies the transformation of the seasons. The breath of the wind on my skin chills my body, but it is as if it is giving up, it is it's final blow. The saccharine sunlight shines almost too brightly over the frozen lake. There is no movement of water; it has been paralyzed for a while now. The icy depths are sweating and will soon again sparkle and radiate under the blazing sheath of light. Can I too shed my coldness and transform? In the midst of this seasonal metamorphosis I breathe in the contradicting elements in their exposed states.