There are buds on the trees. The crocus in my tiny front garden are blooming. The air is not yet humid, but fresh and screaming “no more big, stupid coats.” I am going to go out on a leafy limb here and tell you I put away my shovels (which could very well mean there will be one at least one more snow, so sorry for that).
It’s spring. It’s finfally hope-inducing, get-out-your-gardening-gloves, love-is-in-the-air spring. That time of year when days grow longer and even lagging spirits rise like a helium balloon. Aside from the spectacular allergies, I cherish spring. Nature being all self-centered is pretty hard to resist.
This spring feels especially important, as the world feels crazy and unpredictable in so many ways. (I feel like I’ve been saying this a lot over the last few years–is this the new normal?) So, get on out there on a bike or a hike, or buy some pansies, and pull out the lawn furniture. Clean the grill, go sit at an outdoor cafe, haul out the summer clothes, and open the fucking windows. It’s spring, a fashion show of earthly delights. And something to be sneeze, sniff, cough, where-is-my-allergy-spray damn grateful for.