Spring has begun poking its head around the corner, hinting at what’s to come with warm sunny days that have brought the yellow bells to bloom and encouraged the lawn to shoot up in a few spots. The blueberry bushes at the base of the driveway are already opening blossoms and whispering of the cobblers and preserves that K will be making in the coming weeks. Trees are budding, and soon the wisteria that hangs from the trees across from our house will start sharing its blue and white blooms. I’ve mowed once, and K has begun planning our spring planting.
We all begin thinking about the summer and our trip to Polska to celebrate Babcia’s eightieth birthday — it will be the first time we’ve ever gone back-to-back summers. My first year at the new school is coming to a close slowly (only one more quarter remaining), and since we’ll be moving into our new building next year (though we keep hearing it will be ready by late April, I doubt it), it’s like starting over a second year in a row.
That’s the heart of spring: starting over — the beginning of warmth, of evenings on the back deck with friends, of early-morning light that stretches into the late evening, of fresh. We brush off the malaise of the late winter (inasmuch as we have such a thing here in the south) and warm ourselves again.
Everything seems to be ending and beginning at the same time. The Boy is finishing middle school; the Girl is beginning college, truly learnings is rhythms. And next week, spring ends with temperatures falling to the twenties…