Spring Feverish

When I was younger (much) spring was my favorite season hands down.  Callooh!  Callay!  Oh frabjous day!  I loved the daffodils and the warming air and the smell of new grass growing and the promise of spring vacation coming and sky and clouds and every last scrap of it.  Honestly, my happiness was physical--I felt it in my stomach the way you do when you're a kid on Christmas Eve.

I loved spring--until I had kids and had to sit through baseball and soccer games.  That's when I realized how cold and wet, how unpredictable spring can be.   Like T.S. Eliot said April is the cruelest month.  The season raises your hopes, only to dash them--not unlike the Utah Jazz.

So for awhile I didn't like spring much.  I just got through it and waited for summer.

But now that I don't have to spend afternoons and Saturdays sitting on wet bleachers I find myself . . . falling in love again.  The wind.  The rawness.  The promise.

Just spent the morning outside cleaning up and examining new shoots, inviting the season to pull up a chair and stay awhile.  Welcome, Spring.  We're ready when you are!