Spring

The Optimist’s Manifesto

A sputtering flame is pregnant with the nostalgia of Autumn evenings;

The sense of an ending is the essential mist around winter street lamps at night. Summer, too, longs for the bite, the tenacity of Winter during its contentless afternoons that ooze into evenings. Summer doesn’t know that Winter hoards forget-me-nots underneath the snow.

Spring is the only season that desires with certainty. With finality. She does not luxuriate in the apathy of Winter’s nights or the indecision Summer’s sunshowers.

And the leaves forgotten by Autumn underneath the snow — Spring gives them the air to rot. They shed, layer by layer, their frigid stasis. With their corpses, she tends to the new life that Autumn hid deep within her coat pockets, just in case she might need them later. Only Spring knows you cannot contain life in a bundle of cotton.

She might bring rain one day and sun the next, but there is no equivocacy, here. There is only the pendulum of grey branches against a blue sky. There are only the fingers of dawn tapping on the cold window pane of night.

Related posts:

The Message aims to educate readers on the topic of bots and everything related to bots. Our mission with The Message is to reach audiences everywhere and spread the knowledge about bots with our own…

Data for this article was primarily taken from the Etherscan DEX tracker, Dune Analytics, DEX 24 Hour Volume Bot and CoinMarketCap. As always, comments and further analyses are welcome! In the last…

Your words of wisdom sound so sweet, Such bitter truth in perfect rhyme, Yet when my ears the echoes meet, So too resounds a wicked crime. The thoughts you claim to be your own, Ring certain — loud…