Emerging

Last week someone said to me we haven't had a proper spring in Connecticut in three years.

Because it's been, you know, raining. And gray. And the sun pops out for a day or two. Then it rains again, and is gray. And cold. Then the sun pops out again and everything turns green and yellow and purple.

Sounds exactly like spring to me.

That's the thing about spring. It's changeable and unsettled and it rains all the time an awful lot. I have always maintained that it does not turn nice in Connecticut until June. And this year is no exception. Which is why I usually stay away until then.

But summer is in there, under that rainjacket of spring, waiting to unzip the haze, bare its skin, and say, "Ahhhhhhhhhh........"

Kind of like Ledge Light:

We were at the beach a couple of weeks ago -- a veritable gift of a summer weekend in the middle of April -- although the beach was way colder and way foggier than our deck had been. At first, we couldn't even see Ledge Light out there, at the mouth of the Thames River.

But then, slowly, ol' Ledgie started emerging from the fog.

Just like the way summer emerges from the haze of spring.

All of a sudden, it's sunny more days than it's rainy.

And everything gets sharper . . .

. . . and clearer. And warmer.

And then, just like that, it's summer.