Spring does this to me every time.
I think I hate it — since I much prefer darker days, less blue and more atmospheric fretfulness than Spring cheerfully delivers. Actually, Autumn is my season — the Autumns of butternut squash, soups and breads and books taken to read before the fire. Spring? Bleh. Too sunshiney. Too happy. Not enough comfort food.
No, spring is all fruit picked from the tree and bursting flower pods
Yet. It does manage to sneak up on me and beguile with its winsomeness. Cotton dresses — I prefer alpaca — but there’s something charming about bright warm weather wear, I’ll give you that.
Spring is learning to ride bikes, the promise of fireworks, and patio happy hours.
Spring, you harpy. You did it again.
I don’t want to like you. I’m too introspective and schizo for Spring. Give me a rocking chair and life examined instead.
But here you are in your green skirts and honeyed wrists and fluttery laugh.
I gotta give it you: You’re a heck of a flirt.
What’s your favorite season? Anyone else an Autumn?