The time has come. They must let go of what was. They must release the familiar rough shreds of old and walk naked into the sunshine. And so they go rustling into the warmth….the wet. They bear scars of the seasons. They have stories to tell of the cold. So they lay down their burdens, the dried witnesses of winter. They shake softly in the cool breeze knowing, knowing the day will be long. They begin their journey with bare limbs and weak hearts. They are not afraid of her. They welcome their bright drapings and the trees walk bravely toward Spring.