Torrential rain. Rumbling thunder. Bouncing hail. Gale force winds that blow down trees. Flooding. It rarely snows here. We’re lucky.
Sitting on the couch while reading thick books, cozily wrapped in a blanket, sipping tea – or wine.
Stirring hearty soups and stews in a heavy pot on the stove. Baking bread; its rich, yeasty smell filling the house, making stomachs growl.
But spring is coming. Rainbows follow rain. Puffy white clouds drift overhead; the sky so blue it makes your heart sing. Then that sky turns dark and ominous again. Here comes more hail.
I feel spring rising. Energy and joy bubbling up. I wonder if trees feel the same when sap rises, when leaf buds grow, ready to unfurl. I like to think they do. I like to think plants are as happy as I am to see blue sky after a storm, to feel the warmth of the sun, the kiss of the breeze, as they lift their leaves. I see light almost glow through leaves while cells are busy transforming sunlight into energy.
The winter blooming Camellias are nearing the end of their season. Their creamy white blossoms look tattered. The Abutilon is blooming, drawing our resident hummingbird to its nectar-filled flowers. The Winter Daphne is in full bloom, waiting for the warmth of the sun to disburse the intoxicating aroma of its small pink flowers. The Wisteria buds are starting to swell. Soon they will look like fat caterpillars before bursting into purple, scented glory next month.
A few early finches flit through the bare branches of the Weeping Cherry tree outside my office window. In a couple months, its branches will be filled with pale pink blossoms.
I saw a lady bug the other day, clinging to a parsley leaf.
I feel spring rising.