The Mountains are Wild
Confession : I used to hate Spring. It was such a daunting season for me. Maybe because in New York, it never seems to come quickly enough. You wait and wait for it, and to anyone living on the East Coast, they'll understand how March is the month that loves to play with your emotions. Sunny and 60 one day, blistering winds and a freezing night the next. And then, BAM, the warm air sticks around and a million blooms sprout up over night. There's such a sense of urgency to it, as though it needs to make up for lost time. I prefer the longer seasons of winter and summer to the rapid states of fall and spring. I like to have time to acclimate to my surroundings, something that can't properly be done in the chaos of these changing seasons. In a fleeting moment, spring's beautiful colors are replaced entirely in a mass of green. The blossoms have blown away, and the rain washes them from the sidewalk is though they were never there.
Like I said, I Used to hate Spring. Every year I try harder and harder to appreciate the glimpse of beauty it gives us, however brief it may be. This year, V and I are trying to move around a bit to catch the peak blooms in numerous settings. Wish me luck, because for now, Winter is still as present as ever.