Mr. Spring, the painter

How is everyone’s sanity holding up?
I keep thinking this is a test to my own. How much more can I take, before breaking down. How strong am I really. Is this the ultimate test to natural selection? The modern natural selection.

I have been going on walks in the place I was raised and growing up, trying not to go insane. Perhaps I already have though, since I’ve found beauty in the fields I used to overlook. Maybe I’m just lucky it’s Spring. Yes, Spring, the painter. Comes on board carrying its pencils, brushes, flasks of ink, a palette filled with such a magnificient range of colours. Mr. Spring. In my head, it is extravagant, but shy, with borderline disorder – it mostly paints colour fields with sunny skies, but sometimes it gets in moods and the colours are somehow smudged with the rain, less bright with the clouds.

That is Mr. Spring for you.

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