Maybe we are all waiting . . . waiting for strength, and courage, possibly anger . . . waiting for hope . . . waiting for all of it to build . . . to get us through to that right time . . . get us through the winter. The winter, where it felt like part of us, if not dying, were waiting dormant. And we waited. Hoping, growing. Our green limbs getting stronger. And then it came, unexpected, but promised. It came, the spring. And she, like everyone, had waited long enough. This winter, this world, that expected her to whisper, would have to listen. She could feel that voice getting stronger and louder, and she knew, the world knew, she, the spring, was about to leave the silent snows behind. Bloom. Bloom with voice and thunder. This woman, this springtime, was about to be heard.