It’s funny how twenty minutes outdoors, with my camera around my neck, suddenly feels like a luxury. I’d like to bottle this weather and put in my pocket–save it for a…wickedly hot and humid day in August.
And these forsythia are irresistible. There is one that taps at the window in the living room. I’ve been watching it slowly open and bloom from my perch on the sofa.
I wandered around with my camera for a bit this afternoon, once I got Birdy down for a nap. The forsythia were begging to have their picture taken in the late afternoon sun.
The cats were loitering around the shed, hoping we might just feed them one more time. Henry, the king of all cats, sits on the roof of the shed–his favorite overlook.
The row of bushes and trees makes me think of mowing season. The diving in and out of them on the mower. The bugs and spider webs dropping on my shirt, in my hair, the branches scratching across my face and arms. I can’t believe it’s already time to mow again.
The tree swing is rarely at rest. It seems that every time I look out my kitchen window I can see it swaying back and forth. We’re all relieved to see tiny buds forming on the branches of this late bloomer. We were worried we’d lost her after the lightning hit.
I love the changing of seasons, spring in particular. The open windows, the longer days, the way it feels to be outside again after a winter gathered around the wood stove in the living room.