Spring fix

I tend to think of spring as a transitional season, along with fall, with summer and winter being the “main” states, if you will. It makes sense in my head. In spring (and fall) there’s so much changing going on; the weather is hardly the same from one day to the next, and the landscape really is making quite a dramatic transition from winter to summer (or vice versa).

I admit, I get impatient with spring, whereas I always wish fall would slow down — I want to savor it. But during spring? I just want summer to hurry up already. And this year, please leave the humidity behind.

But last weekend, before Easter dinner at my in-laws’ house, I got to slow down for a minute and enjoy what spring has to offer: still-green dogwood blossoms, for example. In a few weeks, they’ll be wide open and snowy white, but I’m glad I got to see the infant blooms, their tips tinged with a deep plum.

Nature sure is funky.

Keith’s parents have bleeding heart growing in a pot on their patio. They were too pinky-pink for me though. (Sorry, Nature.) So I used Pioneer Woman’s Seventies Photoshop action to soften it up. I like the Alberta spruce in the background. It looks like an asterisk bush.

But I tend to enjoy spring the most after a good rain. It makes tree bark take on a deep, dark black-brown, and really shows off all of the new-leaf colors. My favorite combination is that dark brown with springy yellow-green, like the moss growing on our Bradford Pear. I don’t enjoy the puddles though.

Spring sure is pretty. So I guess summer can take its time getting here. But please leave the humidity behind.

Seven days

A lot can change in seven days. Especially if you’re The Weather, and you’re in Southern Maryland.

For example, this was the tree in our front yard seven days ago.

It was well below freezing outside. It was the heaviest snow we’ve had in years. YEARS. Last year we barely got flurries. It was the second day of March. We had no electricity.

And this was our tree today — seven days later.

Our Bradford pear is on the verge of blossoming pretty white pear blossoms. Funny-smelling pear blossoms. When the blossoms wither and drop, it will look sort of romantic and snowy in a funny-smelling flower petally sort of way. Not like seven days ago.

It was up to seventy degrees today. SEVENTY. I wore a skirt and light jacket to work, after months of jeans and tights under jeans and wool sweaters and long sleeved shirts under those wool sweaters, and wool coat. And boots. And mittens. And scarves. And okay, it’s not really *that* cold in Southern Maryland in the winter (except for seven days ago), but I’m a wimp about the cold so please don’t ridicule me too much. Anyway, getting to wear a skirt and cute shoes made me feel more voluptuous and womanly and less like the Michelin Man. I was able to turn off the heater, and keep my socks off of my cold-sensitive feet long enough to file and polish my toenails — and let the polish dry completely. My toenails are now a delightful spring-like shade of Hibiscus Happiness. And I’ve enjoyed it, thankyouverymuch, because seven days from now, who knows what the weather will bring.

Sweet 100

I hold a half-dozen in one hand–ethereal orbs of tomatoey goodness. Popping them into my mouth one at a time, I savor them like filled chocolates.

The skin is tight and smooth, still warm from the filtered sunlight. I bite into the flesh without reservation, unleashing a hot sweet explosion that tastes like robust red-orange with a surprising hint of delectable pink, finishing off smoothly with pure golden yellow.

Closing my eyes, I draw in a deep breath and smile as unfiltered delight travels through my arteries, delivering utopian intoxication to every cell. The flavor of sunshine lingers on my tongue, flirting with my taste buds, tantalizing, teasing, making them crave more.

“Yummmmmmm.”