Youth
Youth.
It sprinkled over the trees when springtime came, kissed the birds’ nests and bloomed on the riverbanks, white, yellow, and red. Deer perked up with warm new fawns at their flanks, rabbits poked from their holes and the stream bubbled, flashing with droplets where a frog or two sprung. The trees rustled with new leaves as if speaking to one another, housing the chattering brown squirrels who conversed like good neighbors where the branches swayed, dipped in the daytime rhythm. Some miles from the forest lay San Fernando, the little settlement not far from bustling Los Angeles that carried a life of its own, just as bright and sprightly. From the confines of winter’s berth, the world stirred and rose, giving way as the first sun of March yawned over the horizon.
