My Descriptive writing pieces

Spring

The spring washed in like the tide, advancing confidently with warmth and white sunshine one day and retreating the next. On some days the new vibrant hues of the pansies and daffodils were bathed in tepid air that encouraged them gently, on others the wintry wind gusted fiercely - demanding a return to the bitterness of the months before. But like the tide, the spring would not be stopped, it pushed on right into May, banishing the chill to memory. By then the birds were busy with feeding the never ending appetites of chicks and the cats prowled the hospital grounds in the hopes that one might fall. Sometimes the rain would fall gently, and other-times lash at the windows of the ward, but its iciness was quite gone. It was on one of these warm but wet mornings that Mac finally got his discharge - reaching forward with his left leg and clacking down the cane in his right hand. Recovery had been slow, but his memory was quite restored.