...then came Spring, and she needed more love than one man could give. As the flowers bloomed, so did she, trading sweaters and boots for skirts and espadrilles. Everything she wore got tight as the Sun grew brighter; the men that wanted to 'white knight' her became the dogs that wanted to one night her. Ogling eyes pollinated her burgeoning cantankerousness. No spring shower could relieve her heat.
As though betrothed to season, she claimed to love Spring, and flaunted her svelte body like a wedding ring. The sky resembled the beautiful blue waters of the Caribbean, and she a mermaid of mythical sexiness. Even nature desired to cop a feel or two, as breezes only ran through her hair and pushed her dresses closer to her, caressing impossible perfection of her body. It was as though last year's beauty fell off with the leaves in autumn, grew again in the ice of winter, and now appears anew in the Spring. No flower could smell as sweet as she; the nectar of the Gods must be in her pores. To be around her is to be intoxicated by pure ambrosia. Was the heat a product of her sensuality, or was it the Sun? The Sun had to compete with her smile on a daily basis as well, as both shined brightly. One could only wonder which was richer: her skin tone or the renewed vibrance of nature?
Spring brought her gems of all types: emerald grasses, a sapphire sky, amethyst pansies, and diamond stars on all nights. Men clamored and stammered, yet all left feeling insufficient. To speak with her was a pleasure, but every sentence was measured. Only the Adonises got to be with her, no matter how fleeting the tryst. After the night, she told them to leave her sight, and they felt remiss. But the parting was not of their fault. You see, no man ever really stood a chance: she and Spring had their own romance. The only relief they had was that even Spring would feel the bummer; she would soon leave Spring for Summer.
-A. Lewis
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