I like a long spring, he said, with green shoots poking promises through the leftover snow and early robins shivering on barren trees.
I like it to be over, she said.
I like sensing hidden growth, he said, almost ready to emerge and yet, for now, nothing but a feeling.
I like to see it with my own eyes, she said.
I like to savour the unfurling leaves, he said, and take long walks along the swollen river watching the current carry away winter’s last shards.
I like it when it’s already gone, she said.
I like the slow build-up of warmth, he said, the creeping anticipation of the lengthening days and strengthening sun and—
I like it when it’s here, she said.
I like to linger in the moment, he said.
I don’t like to wait, she said.