Spring Is In My Hands... Autumn Too.

Epic Beginning Tangent - i know, i know, it's supposed to be "spring is in the air."
well, it's not. it's freezing here in Indiana.
freezing. i hate the cold.

--let's get something straight--i like winter okay... winter scenes, really. i have an artist's soul--snow is beautiful, and grey skies are perfect, and bare trees stretching their thin hands to the cloudy heavens... it's poetic.

but i hate the cold. hate. hate. hate. i hate snow. i hate the feel of it in my boots (not under my boots, i like the crunch of fresh snow and the nice smell), i hate the chill it sends down my spine, i hate the feel of it on my skin, on my hands, i hate it i hate it ihateitihateitihateit. i hate when the sky's cheery and blue and pretending to be warm and friendly, only to trick you outside to realize that it's fracking freezing. it really cheeses my cracker.

Winter is mean and spiteful and wicked. mean. spiteful. wicked. i refuse to befriend it.
End tangent.--

You may be wondering why i said Spring AND Autumn are in my hands, as opposed to one or the other being in the air. well, i'll stop your wondering. no, they're not people, mind out of the gutter.
they're songs. Spring and Autumn, by Joshua Shank.
holy cats, guys, i have Spring and Autumn.
back story! -pensive expression-
When i was a freshman, Joshua Shank came to my high school... (i didn't get to meet him. -sobs-) they were preforming Autumn. when i heard it, i cried. I knew Madrigals was the choir i wanted to be in. and Joshua Shank became my hero. (I really love Gabriel's Message. go listen. do it.)
well, this year is my senior year. (How time flies.) and at the beginning of the year, Mrs. Prather informed us that she wanted to commission a piece from Joshua Shank for the Madrigals. i almost cried when i realized it would be next year, since pieces like this take forever and such. but then Joshua Shank was like, "No, i'll have it for you this school year." and i was like OHMYSTARSNOWAYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPY! (i may or may not have cried, but no one can prove it.) not only that, but now i get to meet him. end of back story! hey, that's not a pensive expression on your face, you look bored... or confused. it's okay, we're still friends.
i'm.
so.
excited.
and he wrote us Spring. -cries with joy-
it's beautiful. so beautiful.
it uses text from two of Sara Teasdale's poems. (Can anyone say I Am Not Yours from last year? you can? good. you may pass go, but you may not collect two hundred dollars unless you find me and sing it.)
Twilight and There Will Come Soft Rain...
beautiful beautiful beautiful.
here they are, if you're too lazy to go look them up. i'm going to go swoon. i bolded my favorite lines from each, because i'm just nice like that.

Twilight
Dreamily over the roofs
The cold spring rain is falling;
Out in the lonely tree
A bird is calling, calling.
Slowly over the earth
The wings of night are falling;
My heart like the bird in the tree
Is calling, calling, calling.

There Will Come Soft Rain
There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire.
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly.
And Spring herself when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.