Spring Is In The Air ~ A Book of Soft Poetry

A Book of Soft Poetry

By Michelle Hoffmann

Sometimes beginning again doesn’t look like a grand transformation.

Sometimes it looks like sunlight warming the floor.

A cat asleep in a window.

The first green bud on a branch you were certain was dead.

A cup of tea held between warm hands while rain taps softly against the glass.

Spring Is In The Air: A Book of Soft Poetry by Michelle Hoffmann is a gentle collection of haiku about spring, love, healing, nature, cats, hope, and the quiet magick hidden inside ordinary life.

These poems celebrate spring not simply as a change in weather, but as a feeling—the gradual loosening that comes after a difficult season, when the days grow longer, the air becomes warmer, and something inside us finally begins to soften.

Throughout the collection, cherry blossoms fall like snow. Daffodils rise from the earth. Bees disappear into tulips. Rain washes old heaviness away. Cats stretch in pools of sunlight, chase bright flecks across the floor, and offer their purrs as tiny spells against the darkness.

And love appears in its quieter forms.

It is a hand finding yours beneath falling blossoms. Tea kept warm because you’re running late. Someone helping with the boring parts of life. Doing dishes together while music plays. Sitting silently on the steps at dusk when words have done all they can.

There is magick here, too, but it doesn’t arrive with thunder.

It lives in candles, rosemary, mint, moonlight, wishes whispered over new buds, a warm mug between your hands, and those unexpected days when everything seems to go just a little bit right.

Spring Is In The Air is poetry for readers who need a gentler place to land. It is for cat lovers, gardeners, romantics, nature lovers, witches, dreamers, and anyone emerging from a season that lasted a little longer than they thought it would.

You don’t need to read it from beginning to end.

Open to any page. Read three lines. Stay for a moment.

Then go back to your day carrying something small with you: a little warmth, a little light, perhaps a little more room to believe that things can become good again.

Because spring doesn’t remake the world all at once.

It does it softly, one small beginning at a time.