Ode to spring

I’m loving my commute these days. That’s partly because, for the first time in my driving history, I have a car with a CD player.  This, of course, means that I am not dependent upon the whims of our local deejays for on-the-road entertainment.  If I want to listen to the soundtrack for Jane Eyre: The Musical, there is absolutely nothing to stop me.  I find that quite nice.

Also, the weather here in CA has turned.  After a frighteningly dry January, a soggy February, and a damp early March, we are in the throes of spring.  The drive I take every morning is breathtaking.  The hills are green and lush, dotted with small clumps of oaks making dark outlines against the morning sky.  Other trees are blooming with white cottony blossoms: gorgeous.  There are even daffodils, planted by some kindred spirit with an eye for beauty (daffodils not being in any way native to this area).  I would like to heartily thank him/her for putting them there, those little bursts of sunlight on the green slopes.

I love every season; I really do.  When one season shifts to another, I’m always eager for the change.  But there’s something about spring that goes to the very core of me.  It’s a hopeful, joyful, lighthearted time.  It’s a Resurrection time.  Every morning, without fail, it gives this sleepy, overextended working mom a little shot of new life.

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