Spring comes to Houston in dribs and drabs, starting in January and lasting until the hundred degree temps of summer set in. Flowering trees bloom here and there, but never all at once, at least not until the crape myrtles explode hot pink in mid-summer heat.
When I moved to Houston at Thanksgiving in 2003, I found Encore azaleas blooming in the late fall. Encore! What a great idea, or so I thought. But I missed Virginia’s banks of narcissus and azalea, Georgetown’s English cottage gardens, and Cleveland’s lush perennial borders. January, February, March in Houston all felt and looked the same.
Spring in Louisville, after our first never-ending, colder-than-average winter, has come in one thundering burst.
This is the picture of creation abundance. Pink-tinged magnolia petals blanket the grass while cherries and redbuds color the early morning air.
Dory, the terrier who still relishes walks after nine months with a hoarder, stops to sniff double ruffled daffodils. One day she finds a black walnut and carries it home, where we throw it into the garden’s mulch. She spends the next few days inspecting every rock and clump of soil hoping to find it again.
When I stop after a walk to pull a few weeds under the weeping cherry, the dogs collapse on the grass, soaking the sun and sniffing the breeze.
I brush the winter’s soil from chairs on the porch. Perhaps it’s time to add geraniums to the window boxes. But for now I am content to sit for a few moments and soak in the magic of a Louisville spring.