In New England, April teases us. It should be spring, but mostly it isn't. Instead the sky is gray and rainy, and it seems that winter will never end. But this week a couple of balmy days, brought our daffodils to full bloom. Our freshly painted walls made everything look bright and clean as the sun shone in. The sweet/sour smell of new mulch appeared around the neighborhood, and the heaviest of our winter sweaters were cleaned and packed away with cedar chips. (Why do we have so many sweaters?)
Baseball is back. People seem less grumpy. It's no longer dark when I get up or when I come home from work. Yesterday, I grabbed a short-sleeved T-shirt, and was outside with no jacket for the first time in 2008.
I love spring, but now that I am 70, I can't help but think that I have to appreciate it more than ever. I am realizing that the springs remaining for me are far fewer than the ones that have passed.