Spring Love

I vacillate between spring and fall being my favorite seasons. Usually when spring rolls around after a long hard winter, it is automatically my favorite season. And then when fall finally breaks through the grinding heat of summer, it becomes very near and dear to my heart. But as I was driving home from NM on Friday, I was reminded once more of why spring is my favorite season.

When I was living in Nebraska during college it was, in so many ways, so much easier to mark the passing of the seasons by so much more than the weather. Because I was surrounded by farm and ranch land that was driven to life and death by every touch of weather as well as hands. And I distinctly remember driving through the country on the way to Lincoln at the very beginning of spring and watching the land wake was almost like watching a bruise heal. The bland, ashy, brown, dead fields would slowly start to yellow as the green started poking its head through the brown and then eventually it would yield to full and lush green for just a few days before it all got tilled under again and rendered rich, vibrant brown awaiting crops to start peeking and turn it all green again.

On Friday on the way home I found much the same thing. Except I knew the majority of the land that I could see yellowing would not be tilled under, but would continue through the greening process until it reached the faint sage color that the desert turns in the middle of summer. The brown in the desert is never really vibrant per say, but it is alive in its own steeped in history kind of way.

I love spring. I love watching the earth and the people wake back up after being cooped up inside for so long. I love watching the neighborhood kids swarm to any and all open yards to play whenever they can. I love strawberries and asparagus. I love the red that crosses my cheeks after standing in the sun for too long. I love the awakening and that joy that comes with it.