spring observations

You watch and you wait, and there in between the watching and the waiting you think about a time when the cold sticks that pretend to be trees won't be cold sticks anymore. You think about open windows and street sounds wafting through a lazy apartment on a lazy day, or walks to work that don't include puffy coats, silly hats and an ice cold wind finding the spaces that you forgot to cover on your self.

And then, all at once and altogether too slowly, the trees begin to have specks of green and puffs of pinks. The sun hangs around much later than it did in January and dares to remind you of steamy summer evenings that have yet to arrive. Spring is here, and my East Coast Spring (unlike my West Coast Spring) takes its sweet time to reintroduce itself to us. But I am ready.

I am reminded of the house that I refer to as my true Childhood Home on a little cul-de-sac in Fresno. When I think of Spring, I think of that house and it's wide open windows. I think of sunshine streaming in and catching specks of dust in the air of my bedroom and I think of green shag carpet and a backyard that offered endless opportunities. I think of Girl Scout meetings on the back porch and of bottle-brush trees blooming red and buzzing with bees. I think of open garage doors and hydrangas and calla lillies. Nostalgia is a beautiful thing.