by Janet Gisnburg
I am now in my 12th city in two months watching Spring unfold yet again. It's lilac bush and peony reprise here in East Lansing. From the first resolutely cheerful forsythia startling the winter-weary in Bologna and the delicate primroses near Stuart's house staking an alpine claim, to wild iris on the Cinqueterre and the iris-about-to-be in Chicago, it's been a treat. Especially, after a winter so brutal, so frightening, so long.
I love to get up in the morning not knowing exactly where my feet will take me. Will there cobblestones and medieval towers? College town bookstores? Miles of sprawly strip malls-by-the-highway where farm fields used to be, where prairies and forests used to be before that? When I walk out the door will it be 23rd street? Apostole? Connecticut Avenue? Will I get invited to recess on the rooftop of a Chelsea preschool? Sit at a dinner table with half a dozen math teachers? Will there be funghi and merlot on the menu? Or a plateful of college town fried with fried? Will I discover a magic tree with the most unlikely purple flowers? Or sit in bumper to bumper traffic, wondering how we all got ourselves into such a stupid mess?....
To read the full article on Spring, fossil sunshine, and hope despite it all, go to the archives page at germtales.com
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