The luxuriant grass, new and tender, bends softly under my foot, it cushions my every step.

“It is now spring! I come out! I meet the sun! I grow!” They seem to be declaring, with exuberance, in their green voice.

It is a feast to the eye too to behold these leaves of grass, this greenery, it softens and gladdens my heart. It puts a spring in my step.

They are not the only ones that come out in this springtime. The sun has drawn out new leaves in every tree, flowers too appear, unexpected, everywhere, delights the eyes of passers-by.

“Ah! It is Spring!” Said I softly to myself. “She has come!”

There is a brighter light at dawn. The sun comes out earlier every day. I could tell it by the chirping of the birds at my window. Each day they celebrate the arriving of the sun by singing.

And it departs later every evening. It seems to be courting his mistress Spring.

The golden-red glow is still high on the west when it’s way past dinner time. In this soft twilight, the most romantic hour of the day, in this caressing warmth, the most romantic season of the year, lovers appear on the lawn, on the benches, content themselves with low whispering.

So spring is growth, it is the coming out of the grass, it is the longer stay of the sun. And the Chinese wakes up to an earlier, a brighter dawn, ears filled with the twittering of the birds, and eyes, behold, with delight and astonishment, the tender grass coming out of the earth, and he says: CHUN1, 春。It sounds, not by coincidence, very much like the Chinese word for ‘coming out’ CHU1 出。