In Walla Walla, I was always awed by the seasons, how they changed like clockwork—definitively so. Leaves were instantly orange and red and yellow in October, cold snaps arrived with December, flowers bloomed and leaves unfurled in March, and summer storms ripped through June while heat waves stagnated through July.
It must be a Pacific Northwest thing or a places-that-have-real-seasons thing because, come to think of it, Auch did it, too.
Delightfully, Portland is no different. March began and so did spring.
One minute the trees were bare and I dreamed of long-off days when I wouldn’t need to wear wool tights under my jeans to bear recesses. Then suddenly the days were longer and everything was green with buds and new leaves and then pink or white or yellow or purple with petals.
Spring is simply magical. Everything comes back to life, rejuvenated.
And we can start to heal after enduring winter’s harshness.