Nobody ever talks about the days in spring
where you sit against the windowsill
looking out as the rain engulfs the outside world.

Everybody talks about the sweet flowers,
blooming in the vast sunshine and warmth
beautiful colors and scents overwhelming your senses
as they sprout from the lush, green grass
and the renewed freedom you have
as you discard your coat and scarf.

Everybody talks about the cool afternoons in spring
where you find yourself reading your favorite paperback,
beneath the ancient cherry tree and its bright, pink blossoms
in the serene meadows overlooking the thawed pond,
where the only sounds are the birds in the distance
and the faint rustling of the trees as they sway with the breeze.

Everybody talks about the days where
the sun urges the snow to melt,
for the cold to disappear and be replaced by warmth
that goes down to your very core,
bringing life and joy to the world again.

But nobody ever talks about the days in spring
where the rain steadily comes pouring down
and you stand outside on the wet asphalt,
welcoming it with a smile as it purifies your consciousness
and opens your mind and heart.

Nobody talks about when deep puddles appear at every flooded street corner,
and even now you cannot help but take one giant step into it
for children's sake,
allowing the water to fly in every which way,
drenching your clothes as you go on to the next one.

Nobody talks about when a storm brews up in the sky,
thunderous dark clouds filling in as you try to outrun it home,
but try as you might,
there comes a point where you simply accept fate
and stand there anyway as the rain crashes down upon you,
upon everything.

Everybody talks about the wonderfully bright, cheerful days in spring.
But it's the days with rain, the dark skies, the sudden downpours,
that I believe need more attention.
As where would the pretty flowers and blossoming trees,
where would the lush green grass and soft, quiet meadows be
without a little rainstorm every now and again?