Spring is almost over . . . here in SoCal, spring is almost a non-event. Winter sort of drifts into spring, and then spring slides gently into summer. There ARE different seasons here (and no, they are not, as the old joke goes, "earthquake season, fire season, flood season, drought season"), but the demarcations between them are subtle. Often I can tell when a season has shifted simply by how the quality of light changes.
I grew up in Kentucky, lovely verdant Kentucky, where spring is an event. There is always just that one day when you know: spring is here, and it's not leaving. Spring there means so many things: soft breezes, tulip trees in bloom, and green, green, green everywhere (emerald, chartreuse, kelly, shamrock, jade). And it also means rolling fields full of frolicking foals.
This close encounter is so charming to me: the foal is curious but wary, as is the human; he's wooed by the creature's cuteness, but he knows that horses can be easily spooked. Yet they've come to a agreement, just for a moment . . .