Yesterday, as I was driving back toward our neighborhood after picking up the Hubby from work (and planning to stop for Chinese food on the way), I looked up toward Paris Mountain, and it hit me.
Everything was green.
The whole mountain seemed to be covered with green of varying shades: light, dark, medium… it was a beautiful and sudden sight. Spring was here, in force.
I also noticed, to my delight, that as we drove along, there were patches of white, and pink, and fuschia, and purple, and red… even the occasional yellow, though the daffodils have been gone for over a week, possibly two. The dogwoods are in full, glorious bloom, their tiered groupings of blossoms opened in showy white or delicate, unimitable pink. The azaleas likewise, their lacy edged trumpets full of those vibrant purples and reds and dark pinks. Even the poor, cut-back-to-nothingness azaleas in our yard are blooming… two of them anyway. Gorgeous red color… I’d love for them to look like the trimmed and bountiful bushes I saw up and down Rt. 253 today. Maybe cutting them back the way I did will help them regrow to a point where I can trim them up and shape them.
The front yard is full of maple helicopter seeds; the boys gathered up a bunch to throw off the neighbor’s new three level fort and watch helicopter down to the ground. The shade trees have changed the lighting around the house; it’s much darker now. And I moved my windchimes to the front of the house near the side porch so I can hear them as I work here. They’re such a pretty sounding set, a gift from my mom one year.
The day was brisk, especially considering we’d had summer temperatures last week. It’s supposed to be cold tonight and chilly tomorrow. But spring has sprung here, and I’m very happy to see it.