Given the lovely weather we are having here just east of the Rockies, I thought I would offer up a different sort of post for your reading pleasure.
As a child spring used to be my favorite time of year; back in central California the yard of my father’s house was always verdant and the scent of flowers was on the air. Even the oppressive smog seemed to lessen in springtime. The reveries of the season were somewhat lessened when my allergies would trouble me, but I always liked the colors and scents April brought us. As the years passed I grew fonder of autumn, which I attribute in part to Keats’ poetry and my burgeoning appreciation of cooking local foods (so many more items seem available at our local farmers markets in fall).
Today, however, I am giving spring a renewed appreciation. From yesterday’s overcast skies and later flurries of wet, spring snow this morning we found ourselves blessed with some roiling clouds above the mountains and the remainder of the sky quickly bluing toward the plains. The air was still wet and fresh, while the pavement had a few puddles left from the previous day’s precipitation. Both the dogs and I enjoyed our stroll through the neighborhood, taking in the scents and sights of a landscape freshly washed and still dripping. Spring, in its lush and fecund attire, was finally with us. Here, ankle-level with the Rocky Mountains, I can understand spring’s popularity, particularly when the air smells so rich and the sidewalks are covered in a confetti of early flower petals. There is little point to noting the variety of the seasons if one cannot appreciate them all, and I find myself becoming a convert once again to the charms of this period of budding and renewal.
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