Every year I am convinced that spring will never come again, so that when it does explode around me with the palpable “floof” of millions of tender green leaves and buds unfurling at once, I am so, so pleased.
In Northeast Tennessee, springtime says “Come and drink coffee on the back deck. Smell the honeysuckle and dogwood. If you come back later, you’ll see early fireflies at dusk.” It’s quite a show for all the senses.
My kids are doing their part to bring in the warm season, running and squealing with joy in their bare feet and smearing themselves and each other with mud-paint. The symbols they make are intelligible only to natives of their world.
I almost remember the language. Almost.