Lord of the dance,
roll out the sun
and its shine.
Light up the scape
with nervous pastels
furrowing spring breezes.
Let the arias raise
like winged praise
above the seams.
Take our hand,
glide us, lead us,
light on our feet.
Till our dormant hearts.
Water us down to the
tip of our roots.
Guide us to the
updrafts of Your glory,
to float on Your praise.
You are the Lord
of the dance.
Sweep us up.
Gerald the Writer 
When I lived in western Michigan we used to say, “When the clouds of total depravity stop rolling off Lake Michigan and the sun once more shines through, then spring has arrived in all its glory.
Amen