The spring of my discontent

Three days of rain are followed tonight by a green, fresh and cool earth. And my heart aches. The rain not only rinsed away the last of the winter dust, it washed away the last of my contentment. I was thrilled with my life not so long ago. The wool has been pulled from my eyes. My rose colored glasses have been removed. Life is not a journey, it is a compromise. When do we say enough? When do we decide that we must wash away our own dust and start over? Have our own spring?