jiggidy jog

home again, home again. I'm back from the weekend. Back to the future in fact. Though the weather, when I landed was the same as when I took off, the calendar was backed up about three and a half weeks. I often mourn that so many wonderful spring blossoms are so short lived. There is that wonderful week when every bloom's lifespan seems to overlap with that of every other bloom. Color everywhere. I need that, you know - I'm not big on subtleties of shade. Brilliant and vibrant, that's my thing. (except clothing - earth tones all the way). Azaleas, Dogwoods, Wi(y)steria, Bradford Pears, countless rod-doesn't-know-the-name flowers, all smiling their colorful faces at once. Then it' over. A good gust out of the south-east and a twenty minute flurry of Bradford Pear Petals, and we're left with green.
Once, about 20 years ago, I spent the last 2 weeks of May and the first 2 weeks of June traveling from Boca Raton to Guilford, New Hampshire. At each stop along the way, we had the very first of the fresh strawberries. Every one said, "oh, you've come just in time for our first strawberries." That was a wonderful month. A wonderfully extended strawberry harvest. Those poor folks in Boca Raton had long since raided the frozen berries for their shortcake while we were following the season north like it was Jerry Garcia and we had a month of Casey Jones.
So how cool would a month of Wisteria be? Makes one want to stay a few weeks and drive on up to Thunder Bay or someplace.
I've been thinking of applying for a writing sabbatical. I'm due. Pack the laptop, start in Jacksonville and make my way NW to Anchorage. The last of the spring flowers fade and the book is done.
Thank you Bowling Green for the daffodils. I envy your next couple weeks.