Spring sprung around 12:30 yesterday. When I came in to work yesterday morning, even the daffodils were still looking a bit stunted, but by the end of lunch, they were in full bloom. But the view out my back door yesterday afternoon makes it officially official. I wish I could take a picture without looking like a creeper.
I have this neighbor across the creek. He's a retired high school History teacher who is clearly enjoying life the right way. Any time the weather can be described as at least habitable, he is in his back yard. His yard is well cared for, but he's not one of those nuts who hand-pulls every last blade of crab grass. It's not that he admires his lawn as a work of art so much as he lives in it like a living room. He has a most impressive grill, which he uses nearly daily, a deck with comfy chairs, a slightly disorganized, but productive-looking vegetable garden, and lines for chicken-necking tied to every piling. But his favorite thing of all is the horseshoe court. Nearly every day since the snow melted, his son has come over for a game of horseshoes. For the first time yesterday though, he was able to play that game in his full, shirtless, leathery, beer-bellied glory with his pasty white son, equally shirtless but only aspiring to such greatness. And that is what spring looks like from here.
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