*Lyrics from Mumford & Sons’ song Winter Winds, from their album Sigh No More.
Spring has finally, and truly, begun here in the northeast and I couldn’t be happier. It’s that wonderful time of year, before the allergies really kick in, and before the mosquitoes take over (though I confess to already having two bites from one walk sans socks). Before you realize that soon you’ll be showing your legs to the world (by hook or by crook, shorts are an evil necessity in summer), soon you’ll be wishing you can have a third shower every day, and that soon you’ll be exhausted at the thought of turning on a single burner to cook (and you can forget baking). For now, we can remain blissful in the awakening of our landscape, our newfound bird and squirrel population (a point driven home by a surge in roadkill being picked clean by crows), our ability to occasionally open the windows to let a fresh, slightly warm breeze into the house. It is a joyous time, made especially joyous by the bountiful buds and blooms that begin to emerge as if gifts (as our neighbors like to say) from Mother Nature herself. Gifts they are, slowly unwrapping, slowly and carefully making us stop dead in our tracks as we see yet another hit of color in our formerly brown-gray, seemingly lifeless vistas.