There’s a common misconception that California exhibits no seasons. One may have to tune-in to subtleties—tasting the air and noting the day’s tinted lens with a keen eye--but California most surely has seasons.
Just over a week ago the saturated graphite sky sunk low and dumped hailstones that clattered so loudly my husband could barely hear me when I tried to tell him what was happening over the phone. They gathered like snow in drifty patches and lasted for several hours. That whole week had been dreary. We bundled like children when walking the dogs, and I sat watching TV with thick socks on and a blanket slung over me.
Just over a week ago the saturated graphite sky sunk low and dumped hailstones that clattered so loudly my husband could barely hear me when I tried to tell him what was happening over the phone. They gathered like snow in drifty patches and lasted for several hours. That whole week had been dreary. We bundled like children when walking the dogs, and I sat watching TV with thick socks on and a blanket slung over me.
But since then the season has changed palpably. I began to see it in the lavender blooms or the fuchsia patches circling certain homes by the side of the freeway as I headed south to San Diego this weekend. Suddenly hummingbirds are plentiful, and berry-like buds and cocoon-wrapped leaves have appeared in the scaffolding branches of deciduous trees.
I felt it when I sat in my courtyard with a friend sipping coffee only to go indoors and realize we were both a little sunburned.
Today it is spring. Observe the diffuse, pale light and the plushness of the air. Feel the breeze so slight it only tilts the poppies or pansies … heartier flowers stay still. It rose from the 40s to the 80s in a week, and one gets the sense we can shove those heavier coats deeper into our closets, or just into storage.
One of my favorite works describing spring is in e.e. cummings’ in Just:
I felt it when I sat in my courtyard with a friend sipping coffee only to go indoors and realize we were both a little sunburned.
Today it is spring. Observe the diffuse, pale light and the plushness of the air. Feel the breeze so slight it only tilts the poppies or pansies … heartier flowers stay still. It rose from the 40s to the 80s in a week, and one gets the sense we can shove those heavier coats deeper into our closets, or just into storage.
One of my favorite works describing spring is in e.e. cummings’ in Just:
in Just-
by: e.e. cummings (1894-1962)
IN Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame baloonman
whistles far and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring
when the world is puddle-wonderful
the queer
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
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