ode to playing in the sun

Today was the kind where the blue sky beckons you open the window, even though its bitter cold.
The emerald grass lures you to tromp in it though it is filled with sticky mud.

The orange glow of the sunset, the fog over the water and the colorfully shaded leaves on the ground confuse you. What season is it? Fall with winters' impending bitterness? Or spring with hope of balmy weather?

"hooray!", you exclaim upon your realization, "there will be many more days like this!"

my inspiration for a rainy first of february

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires,
let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that
sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
and to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for
another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart
and a song of praise upon your lips.

Kahlil Gibran