And just when we thought the flakes were through flying, I see that there are snow showers on tap for tomorrow. Personally, I enjoyed this past winter and no doubt I'll be talking to kids all too soon about the winter of aught eight. While driving in it was not particularly fun and my back hated the shoveling, I loved all the snow because I love the color. It was so nice to have all the white instead of grey and brown. This is probably because I am a fan of the seasons and is one reason why I've never moved out of the Midwest. The thought of not having snow during the winter is preposterous to me as is seeing photos of homes in Arizona or southern California adorned with Christmas trees.
The Dulcinea said to me last week that she doesn't like spring. I found this a shame as I'm really looking forward to seeing how this vernal season plays out. With such a, shall I say, pronounced winter, the turn to spring should be all the more tantalizing. Having endured triple digit snowfall, seeing buds on trees is a marvelous sight. Friends and I are planning gardens while that refulgent orb in the sky rises ever earlier and sets later. The whole cycle of things flourishing, dying, and being covered in snow only to come to life once more is so primitive and so appealing. It is, to me, how things should be and I can't image moving out west where 60 degree temperatures and a bit of rain counts as a change of season.
However much I enjoyed the winter, its time is now gone. Peppers need planting and farmers' market need to begin so I can get fresh cheese curd on Wednesdays. And then comes summer. One of things I love about summer is the (very) occasional Saturday morning when I arise during the antelucan hours, brew a heady cup of coffee, and await the dawn. Soon enough it's seven o'clock which means Samurai Saturday on IFC. A great way to start my day.
1 comment:
It's not that I don't like spring.
I love so many things that come in spring. Remember the singing cardinal I pointed out to you in front of my apartment building, or the bud on the seemingly-dead tree of which I tried in vain to get a close up at Maple Fest?
I love the changing of the seasons and can't imagine life without them. It's my nervous system that doesn't seem to like spring. My hypothalamic suprachiasmatic nuclei (SCN), "the site of the mammalian master circadian pacemaker", don't take kindly to spring. "The riot of green" as I've come to think of it does a number on me. I actually think that my limbic system gets overstimulated because my circadian rhythm gets thrown out of whack by all the sudden sun.
My dislike of the spring is really a dislike of what happens to me in spring, not of the season itself.
I see beauty, I adore especially the suddenness of birdsong everywhere. I find myself watching the skies lately, watching birds.
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