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.
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:
by: e.e. cummings (1894-1962)
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
whistles far and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
when the world is puddle-wonderful
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing