When I was a kid, I only faintly remember the feeling of spring. The fresh, crisp air. The urge of a new beginning. As the damp, cold of winter moves on, new life emerges. The smell of freshly cut grass. The year’s first trip to the beach, and feeling the sand squish between my toes. Something about spring is so fresh. So clean.
Living in Florida, though, I don’t ever remember looking outside and feeling that ah-ha, it’s spring moment. The damp thickness of the winter just warms up to become the hot damp thickness of the summer. While the vibrancy of the grass may fade some in winter, no snow covers the ground and some flowers bloom year-round. There are always distinct signs of life in mother nature. In the North* Philadelphia, spring is a whole different story. Fresh, crisp air? Sure. Feeling of a new beginning? Okay, I’ll buy that. But the l-i-f-e. It’s indescribable. The bare trees begin to show the deep vibrancy of life in an absolutely fascinating way. Buds appear every where. Not small, pathetic bulbs, but actually full-fledged flowers emerging in hues every color of the rainbow.
Philadelphia teases us with days in the mid-70s only to turnaround and drop some snow when we least expect it (yes, really – it snowed last week). But, even then, I forgive you Philly. I forgive you for giving me moments like these.
Come back to us, spring. We miss you already.
Note: *To a Southerner, pretty much anything from Maryland on up is “the North” – up here, people think it’s hilarious when I call it that. To be fair, I think it’s hilarious when people here tell me it’s “miserably hot” when it’s in the upper 80s. Ummm, no. Take a trip to Florida in August. Just sayin’.
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