Last week I laundered my winter jacket and put it away. Three days later I wore it again. Spring was not quite here, even though the calendar indicated otherwise. It's not unusual for spring to come in teases, between the very cold and heavy blankets of winter.
But today spring is everywhere. You can see it; smell it and hear it. And it is heavenly. Spring is not my favorite season, but it's a good one. And when it arrives, I show it the respect it deserves.
Spring here lasts about an hour and a half. Then comes the long and hot, sole-blistering summer. Still, a spring day is like no other experience. I picked up my granddaughter (whose pen name is Valerie Fields, but today wishes to be called Flower) from school. We had ice cream on the patio of our favorite place. We came home to practice riding her bike, but it was too windy. So we grabbed the cat and went into the backyard. I sat in the sun and watched Flower climb a tree.
Is spring your favorite season? What is your first memory of it? I have vague visions of my little brothers wearing short pants and running through the yard. But what I remember most are the smells of clover and grass and the perfume of Paper white Narcissus from my grandmother's garden.
In one of Flower's Pinkalicious books, Fairy House Pinkalicious says she loves spring because "the sky looks like cotton candy at sunset".
Flower came down out of the tree. She picked flowers from her garden and then planted them again next to the porch. It was the best day ever, she told me, as we went inside for dinner.
Tomorrow it will rain. And the next day, too. I will celebrate rain by working and maybe baking something to warm the house. But today belonged to spring. And we recognized that.
No comments:
Post a Comment