It smells like spring.
OK, so it's impossible for you as a reader to know this, but it has been at least seven minutes since I wrote the last sentence. I keep hemming and awing over how to continue. Where to begin, what to say, how to describe this feeling I have inside. Perhaps I don't know how to describe it because I haven't felt it in so long:
I feel my depression starting to lift, and I'm hopeful that it will melt away completely with the snow, and that my inspiration will blossom again with the spring.