Spring, spring, spring.
Apologies to anyone who didn’t watch Seven Brides for Seven Brothers every other day for most of their childhood. I love spring. Here in the deep South, spring and fall are the best seasons. In the summer, it’s not comfortable and sometimes not even safe to go outside most of the time. There is a period between about 5 and 7am where it might be OK but that’s usually only if we get rain. And we do, usually every day that we aren’t in a drought, so it’s practically a rain forest. The winter is for complaining because it actually got below freezing and all we own is a hoodie and one glove and a deocorative scarf and OMG, WHAT IS ALL THIS WHITE STUFF, BUY ALL THE BREAD AND MILK, WE’RE SUPPOSED TO GET 2 INCHES.
And wine. Please.
Fall is OK, but I always get sort of depressed in the fall. I think it’s a throwback to school starting when I was a kid. Fall feels like the end to me and I guess it is. The year is nearly over, the flowers and gardens are over. I can usually buoy myself up with Halloween and Thanksgiving but I am still somewhat morose when there’s a bite in the air and it gets dark before 6.
So spring. Sppprrriing. It’s suddenly warm and the sun and the light breeze on my exposed arms feels like balm on a burn. It smells delicious, with all the newly cut grass and freshly budding flowers. The sunlight is glorious, it isn’t dark until almost 9. I feel like a new person. Even the rain is just an excuse to throw open the windows and doors and listen and breathe. I need spring year round.
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