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In this piece, I paint a picture of light returning to the temperate slumberous forests. New chutes of magnificently emerald grasses, early crocuses and snowdrops tentatively finding their way toward their source of energy. The granules of snow reflect the tender leafage of a barely visible primrose. A tawny, flattened landscape begins to speckle with new growth and quivering fauna. Shining ivy leaves wastefully scatter the sunlight like thousands of jade mirrors, whist densely compressed fiddleheads pursue it ravenously, tearing asunder their husks in the process.
In this piece, I attempted to convey both winter and spring. I focused on the brightest stage of winter (rebirth) and the darkest stage of spring (void.) Spring has not yet been born in this song, but, like the restless fiddleheads, it will soon erupt tempestuously from its womb. There is a violence to this birth, reflective of a greater cosmic law: that all things must pass, and change is the way of things. But we look upon new life lovingly! It is the old life transformed! The bud has passed from the realm of earth into the realm of air. It has assimilated the earth around it and is preparing to remake it in its image, in hopes that, one day, its own offspring will do the same, and the universe can inhale anew.