In Spring __exclusive__ — Seasons

Primrose decided to investigate. She put on her mud boots—the ones with the frog on the toe—and stepped outside. The world was noisy in a way it hadn’t been for months. Bees the size of grapes fumbled out of a hollow log, drunk on their first pollen of the year. A robin argued with a squirrel over a twig that would become a nest. Even the fence posts seemed straighter, as if the earth had stretched its back.

“Mama,” Primrose said, tugging her mother’s sleeve. “The air smells different. Like wet dirt and candy.” seasons in spring

She followed a path of melting frost into the woods behind her house. There, she found the creek, which had been a silent strip of ice just yesterday. Now it was chattering, spilling over rocks, carrying tiny green leaves that had fallen from somewhere upstream. Primrose knelt down and dipped a finger in. Cold—but not the bone-cold of winter. A bright, sharp cold, like biting into a green apple. Primrose decided to investigate

Her mother smiled. “That’s the smell of things waking up.” Bees the size of grapes fumbled out of

She’s here. Spring is here.