Tulip Sprouts

Many people who know me think that winter is my favorite time of year. As soon as those flakes start falling I turn into the happiest of happy and start singing carols to absolutely everyone who will listen. And they're right, I do love winter. But spring is my time of year. If one day the president said that we had to vote on one season and that would be the only one that we could have I would totally rig that ballot and spring would win. There is just something about the way the breeze smells and feels on my finally bare arms. My whole body is relived to make it to spring. I love the noises, the weed wackers, the lawn mowers, the birds, the breezes, the rains. I love that I can hear what's going on in the parking lot below my window because it means the windows are open. When I'm at home during spring I spend every single day outside on the big swing on the back deck with Wicket and Boomer cuddled next to my legs and Jane Austen or Henry James (I'm forever trying to finish Portrait of a Lady) in my hands, the breeze hitting me and making me feel as though I'm really in that garden with Mr. Nightly and Emma. When I'm at school I'm often at a lose for what to do. There are so many things. If the sun was out I'd be outside taking pictures, but it's not. And if I was motivated I'd go for a jog, but I'm not. If I could focus I'd be reading a novel, but I can't. I'm absolutely filled with this restless energy and it peaks every time I feel the breeze float through my window and land on my cheek. Spring is always when I'm at my most creative as well, in fact this blog was born in spring. So instead of doing anything productive, I'm sitting on my bed, blogging and listening to spring.