Signs of Spring

All I can say is those May Flowers better be spectacular.

Spring is not all daffodils and crocuses and unicorns and hearts and rainbows around these parts; not in New England it isn't.

What spring is -- in April, at least -- is a lot of rain. Rain and rain and rain. April showers and all that. That is, afterall, is why they call it spring.

But every once in a while, the sun does break through, and the very second it does, I'm on the deck. And that is a Sign Of Spring.

One blankie under; two blankies over: Spring.

The croci are coming out. It's just that the sun is never out long enough to light them up . . .

. . . but they are lovely.

Oh! Back on the deck! No blankies at all, thank you very much. When Mistah and I were on the road, and spent our winters in the Florida Keys, we would talk to our parents on the phone and they'd tell us about the snow and the wind and the rain and we'd be all, "Um, sorry, what? What? I can't hear you over the sound of beer bottles being opened over the sound of the fishing boat engine."

Now, I'm the one in the Northeast, on my deck in April, basking in the fragile sunlight, comforted by, at least, the Red Rocker -- oh, how that lovely friend needs a paint job this Spring -- and Mistah's new bicycle machine . . .

. . . plus, Spring's here. It is! This very specific, very quintessential New England version of it. The kind where the daffs are up, but battered by the rain . . .

. . . and the forsythia is up, but drab in the gray light . . .

. . . but at least we have our circle of blooming flowers. Hey, wait a second . . .that's 1973!

Okay, here we go. 2011. Where we have awesome neighbors. And patience for the warm weather to arrive. And wine.

And blankies.