Always fresh, like new, green grass or the morning dew, Prima Vera brought new life to everything she touched. She touched a tree, dormant from winter's cold, and her tenderness coaxed the shy, baby leaves to show themselves. She touched a bluebird, and its song sang happiness that radiated like sun rays.
She adorned herself in the bright, azure blue of the sky and the vibrant, greens of the forest's foliage. Her laughter played upon the ears like the happy plink, plink of a child's toy piano, or the backyard wind chimes that secretly summon the fairies to dance.
Occasionally, her emotions overtook her. There were random moments of joy that caused her to rain gentle tears upon all in her presence--light sprinkles that caused them to giggle in their own joy, or to take cover in the nearest doorway or alcove. Sometimes, she was furious, and her screams seemed to echo off the mountains, through the valleys, and off the tenement buildings in the projects.
She never stayed angry for long. After each outburst, she apologized with roses, or tulips, daffodils, or dandelions. Her gifts were always appreciated. They were admired by man and beast, birds and bees alike.
Prima Vera like to think of herself as a dual personality. There were days when she was that soft, genteel lamb whose whispers licked the lobes of men's ears, and the napes of their necks until unbridled passion found them in jewelery stores in search of the perfect ring. And then, there were the days when she felt aggressive, like a lioness on the prowl. On those days, it seemed as if her playfulness knew no boundaries. She frequently knocked the hats off of gentlemen's heads, and tickled their faces with their ties as they hurried to work, and shamelessly lifted the skirts of unsuspecting women, causing them to re-think the length and style of the dresses and skirts in their wardrobes. Sometimes, her blustery laughter would just halt them in their tracks.
Prima Vera never stayed in one place for long. Three months was usually the longest she could stay still. After that, she travelled the world, flitting from place to place like Earth's butterfly, and just as she couldn't stay still for long, she couldn't stay away too long either. Year after year, people looked forward to her return. People swore that her return could be predicted by the shadows of small, woodland creatures, or that it was marked by the longer light of day, or white bunnies and multi-colored eggs, or children braiding May poles.
But, whatever it was that made her return special for each individual, she was always fresh, like new, green grass, or morning dew, and she always brought new life to everything she touched.
Connie Benton/ScorpioPoet/Rhythmic Rain
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