There is so much flashy beauty in all this spring springing, but today I looked down at my feet, at the dewy grass, and ta da! Look at that. All those perfect dewdrops on those perfect, green blades.
It's all too much for the little brain to handle.
Relate it to writing? O-kay. It's like the fertile start of a story, all that promise of newness and sparkle, dazzling to the mind's eye. And then comes the heat of summer. You have to mow (tame, edit) all that green stuff. And then fall: it threatens to die on you.
Well. I tried to relate it to writing. I tried.
