the colors of my spring

Spring in North Carolina is nothing less than breathtaking. I loved this season back in Michigan too; after such a long, gray, cold winter, seeing the baby crocuses peek through the earth was such a welcome sight. It would put hope back in your heart that you would one day see the sun again, wear a short-sleeved shirt, and maybe get a little color on your face. But it was timid, as if the color understood the possibility of a 5-inch snowfall in April, so leaping out of the ground wholeheartedly could very possibly end its life in a coat of ice. In my memory, Michigan springtime is in pretty pastels. At least until the threat of snowfall no longer looms.

Here, the colors of spring speak ALL IN CAPITAL LETTERS. AND THEY END THEIR SENTENCES WITH EXCLAMATION POINTS! They are bold and surprising. Even the weeds come out with confidence:

Everywhere I look there is something to be noticed: the HOT PINK! azalea peeking through the shrubs in our front yard,

the tangy smell of the WHITE! flowering pear tree,

the PURPLE! irises opening up around the neighbor’s mailbox post.

We’re starting to see the blooms on the dogwood trees lining the neighborhood boulevards, and even the GREEN! of the trees and the grass seems to be in Technicolor.

Pretty soon the fields will be full of cotton and tobacco,

the now-empty roadside stands will be full of farm fresh vegetables and the neighborhood pools and parks will be full of squealing kids.

A year ago our spring was not the season of rebirth that the poets write about; it was full of fear and uncertainty. It was a prologue to an anguished summer, full of tears, goodbyes, and one horrible farewell. Last year we drifted through the seasons and crawled into winter exhausted, ready for a good long rest.

This year is different. This year is brilliant and new, full of promise and excitement and reassurance that we are again on the right track. Our hearts are ready for our new life here.