Today is cold and windy, which I don't exactly hate because it very well might be the last of this winter that never really was. Winter was hard for me in a lot of ways, but the weather was kinder--mild, quiet, and not so raging. I'm thankful for that.
But this weekend, it was spring. We all wore shorts and skirts and took walks under trees and shopped speedily and ate bready food that tasted so good ouside under the bluer sky. There were flowers in every window, at least according to me. That's why these pictures are so big--it's because spring is not small and contained. It is splashy, big, overgrown. And a little fuzzy.
It's funny that we gush about spring when it comes. And we will urge summer on, and then revel in fall, and eventually we will take winter again. We need these seasons--I need these seasons to correspond with my own. I hope so badly that they correspond with my own.
Spring is here, I hope I hope I hope.