Aw, timid widdle spring

Yes, yes, you do have to arrive at such a turbulent time. We hear you concerns, Fair One. We do.

What if he's angry, the wind from the south? What if he wants us somewhere where we aren't, anywhere but where we are? What if he pushes us? Already we have arrived too early. It is February still, no time for flowers and greening things. We have no right to request warmer, softer rainfalls between orchestras of thunder clash grand syphonies announcing the coming of rebirth, freedom, and all those colors.

Yet it is green, and it smells green. Here it even feels green. The air tastes green and new and wet and Spring bends her neck against the gush of the winter wind who would move her in and himself out, but he always holds on so tightly that it feels as if he is about to just take her with him.

Spring screams with her thunder, her lightening, her stormy rage, and winter fights back, and thus the tornado is born.

Can no one just be polite enough to say "Excuse me. Just passing through.' and that'd be it.