I know, I know: sacrilege. Everyone loves spring. Rebirth, renewal, blah blah blah. Personally, I find spring irritating. Because spring is not summer.
This year, though? After braving a New England winter? For the first time in 8 years? This year it's different. This year I'm embracing spring with open arms. Well, my arms start out open, but then there's the embracing part, during which they're closed. In an embrace.
Anyway. I'm loving this spring.
Yellow is the prevailing color around here, this springtime.
The forsythia is yellow . . .
. . . and the dafs are yellow . . .
. . . and sometimes yellow and white.
The magnolias are busting out . . .
. . . and the azaleas are throwing their blossoms out into the world . . .
. . . so enthusiastically.
And finally I realize that Spring is the season of outgoingness. Of exuberance. Of flash and drama and flair. As if the Universe is seconds away from breaking into song.
I honestly don't know why it took me so long to figure out. I love outgoingness. And exuberance. And flash and drama and flair. And I love to break into song. Living in Spring is like being the star of a really great musical.