Spring

The grasshopper clicks his head rubbing the wiry hands together. He rolls his eyes and wriggles the green body. Spring is upon them, its brilliance unfurling in the tendrils of the guava leaves, in slivers of green shards that defy the dry brown patches on the ground, where the ants still toiled and trundled in long trains, carrying their freight cargoes. While he, the master of spring, frolicks in grandiose. He flings one bright green leg to reach for the sun, snoots down at the unromantic ants on whom was lost the magic of creation, and leaps into the realm of green.

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