The Present

I have lately realized that spring gives me anxiety.

The explosion of light and color, even though in reality gradual, feels like opening a door and walking into a place where an orchestra is in full swing, with every instrument in action.

While fall, though melancholy, reminds me of gently nodding off to sleep, spring throbs.

I can only take so much of it in at a time.

Everything seems to be on the edge of something.