Spring Fever

Spring in Atlanta is wondrous. Driving through the established neighborhoods, you can see the old trees bursting with glorious flowers. My aunt’s yard has an especially gorgeous plethora of trees.

I have a number of favorites. This dogwood! The weeping willow ‘sisters’ in my dad’s garden, a lovely fir tree at the entrance of our neighborhood -  a defiant Yankee transplant that seems to thrive in south, and there is one oak that I pass everyday driving to work that stands slightly crooked, like a noble guard of old, keeping watch over a busy, unruly intersection.

Stuck in gridlock traffic driving home, I gaze rather giddily at the trees. I think this is what they mean by spring fever. Just looking at the burst of life that has overnight sprung from the dead branches fills me with a rather absurd sense of optimism that just makes me want to do something, everything, afresh, afresh, afresh!

At least until the pollen hits and invades your every sense with tiny yellow particles that clog all thought!