It's raining here in Southwestern Ohio, and has been on and off for days. This morning it was coming down so hard that I had to stand by the window and watch as sheets of it fell in susurrus waves, beating into the pavement and brickwork outside the building. A lot of people are beginning to grouse about the weather. But I see the grass, growing so fast you can almost hear it rustling. The glowing green light that reflects into my bedroom on a rainy morning from the trees outside, making it look as though I woke up in the heart of an emerald. The ebb and flow of color as the spring blooms burst and fade, in their order.
I have always tried to appreciate spring - anyone who has spent a winter in the steely gray Midwest does, on some level - but this one is different. The landscape here is certainly the opposite of what I saw in Colorado, but it's more than that. Even in Central Ohio I never felt this much movement, this much life. The trees are taller here. There are more woods, lurking dim and shady at the fence lines of suburban homes. A five minute drive will take you out of our tiny town and into bona fide farmland complete with barns and livestock, possums and buzzards and wild turkeys. The ingredients of life are close enough, here, to touch.
I'm glad that it's raining. I'm going to go outside and feel the life of spring fall out of the sky and soak into my skin, getting me ready for a growing season.
Today: 80%. That's what they say, but I can report a 100% chance of precipitation from where I sit.