I’ve written before about how my childhood springtimes in Texas failed to coax any drop of sentimentality out of me. In fact, I couldn’t understand why so many people went into raptures around the end of March. Our primary spring imports were mud and allergies, and the weather’s slow slide from warm to really warm hardly seemed worth rhapsodizing. (It’s entirely possible, of course, that I could have put more effort into noticing the seasonal beauty, but I was always loyal to autumn with its crackling leaf piles and nutty breezes.)
Here in Italy, however, this time of year is like personalized catnip. Only a flimsy fondness for decorum keeps me from rolling around in every patch of wild daisies I see, paws flying and propriety punch-drunk on sunshine. Not only have I stopped minding when others wax poetic about spring, I’ve started my own list of celebratory ballad topics:
- The sight of freshly washed socks tiptoeing on the line rather than slung over radiators to steam dry. (If any of you knows Journey’s song-writing team, you’re welcome to direct them here.)
- The scent of my favorite lemon perfume laced with memories of Sorrento and excitement over this Easter’s camping trip.
- The texture of damp earth, the elemental weight of seeds between finger and thumb, and the whisper-touch of newborn plants.
- The sound of the girls’ laughter spirited away by the open air, waltzing in windows and back out to whirl under their footsteps.
- The flavor of 2011’s first strawberries, sorbet for dessert, and cherry blossoms dished up on periwinkle breeze.
What about you? Does anything about this time of year stir you into a feline frenzy and/or inspire you to poeticize socks?
yes.
but it hasn’t gotten here yet.
*groggily gropes for more coffee, and scowls*
The blush of myriad shades of green as far as the eye can see – with a few light browns and reds thrown in for good measure. Dogwoods unfolding white and pink (my favorite!) blossoms. The white Bradford pears, the purple wisteria… everything in is riotous bloom where I live. Just the pure color of it all! The antithesis to fall – things go from nothing to rainbow to green in the spring, while in the fall, things go from green to rainbow to brown to nothing again.
Like you, I’ve always been partial to fall, but this year, I’m rejoicing over spring!
I used to be a fall girl too, but years of living in the frozen north have turned me into a spring lover. O! Spring! Definitely poeticizing!
Today was the first day my children went outside to play WITHOUT their winter coats on. It snowed last week, well, I guess it will almost be two weeks ago, and now, it seems like it might not snow. But I am guarded. There was supposed to be snow on Friday morning, but it never happened.
Today the sun was a show-off. The kids laid in a dry patch of dead grass, and then went on a walk to hunt for “nature things.” They came home with plastic bags full of dead and half decomposed leaves. I have taken note (on the sly) that there are some shoots that are peaking up from the soggy soil…Oh, I can’t wait. We have no color yet, but I am on the lookout for green. I long to open a window. I can’t wait to see FLOWERS. And strawberries are a long way off, but they will come.
Rain – I tried to send some cherry blossoms your way. Did they make it across the Atlantic breeze?
Tikatu – The color, oh yes, it makes me giddy. Purple wisteria is one of my favorite things in existence, but I wouldn’t turn down some dogwood blossoms either. 🙂
O! Lizardek! – I love your version of poeticizing. So Shakespearean!
Megsie – My hat is off to those of you who have to deal with snow forecasts in April. I don’t think I could survive such an emotional blow. I mean, I think snow is magical and all, but I think it belongs in its proper season; none of this infiltrating springtime!