It's been pretty well established from my previous ramblings that I love all four seasons. The slant of the morning light, the fire of the sunset, the winds and rains and clouds -- each time of year has its own sort of air. When you open your front door first thing in the morning and inhale, you sort of feel the season, right?
Spring always feels so fresh, like dew on grass and clean sheets. It makes me want to listen to Joni Mitchell's "Chelsea Morning," buy fresh flowers, drink vanilla soy milk, and walk for miles and miles.
Summer is ripe with heat and possibilities and energy. I'm drawn to water in all its forms -- pool, ocean, splashing fountains at the park across the street, icy lemonades and margaritas.
Fall turns spicy, with rustling leaves and cool breezes and -- be still my heart -- those changeable skies. I take my coffee black, I wear my tall boots, I light so many candles in our house that I get teased for hosting a seance.
Winter is quiet, usually. It's chilled and wet and windy. It's gray and glassy. It's the one season when I'm happy to be inside almost all the time, under blankets and pillows, with
wine hot chocolate and a book.
I always adore winter in its frosty beginning, when the snow still feels like magic and cold makes your house, all decked out for the holidays, seem that much warmer. But as the months go on, around February, I usually get a touch of cabin fever. If I lived somewhere far from the city, where the snow didn't turn into black slush almost instantly, it might be different. As it is, winter loses me about halfway through.
But something is different this year. Winter keeps running hot and cold on me, and I love it.
We've had a few snowstorms this year, and a few bitterly cold days too. But for every frigid morning, it seems as if there are two or three mild afternoons. And when the snow starts melting and the sunshine feels warm through the car windows, I get a little thrill, feeling like spring is right around the corner.
Logically, I know it isn't coming anytime soon. In fact, logically I should be concerned about global warming (and I am, although it's easier to be worried in the summer). But since when have I let logic interfere in my emotions? Never, I tell you! So I am continuously feeling the rush of a changing season with each melty, sunny winter day.
I walked around downtown with Kyle after lunch for a few minutes, and it was the best few minutes of the day. Blue skies, and a soft breeze, and air that felt fresh, like spring.
I've discovered, over the past year, that change is growing on me. It feels exhilarating to stand on the edge of something -- anything -- and image the possibilities. Spring is a good time for that, I think. Even if it hasn't officially arrived, you can find glimpses of it in the middle of winter.