Today was the first day of spring. Yes, I know, it's not supposed to be until March 21 but it was definitely a sudden change of season. The day started out dark and cold, rain pelting down my neck as I dashed to the car. It was a good kind of dark, though. I love it when the clouds are low and heavy with rain, spilling over the hilltops and dissolving into a misty haze. The density filters the sun a particular way, producing deeply saturated colors which fill me with a profound sense of well-being.
Throughout the morning I glanced outside, noticing the gradual lifting of clouds and haze. Instead of the light going flat and yellowish (which annoys me immensely) the blue-gray tones lingered, giving a sculpted look to the trees and cars. The rain drifted east. By the time I left for lunch it was a delightfully breezy day, fragrant with the scent of burgeoning nature. Huge white cumuli had built up in the west on the sea side of the hills. Cherry and plum trees tossed slender branches in the air, laden with fat little blossoms of pink and white. Glossy horses cropped and tore at emerald green grass in glistening pastures as I drove through the Portola Valley past old apple orchards. My hair tangled and blew into my eyes when I rolled down the window, and I could hear songbirds everywhere. It was gloriously, exuberantly springtime at last.
I didn't even mind going back inside after lunch. It had been such a celebration to be driving through the hills, listening and smelling and looking at the renewal of the land. I smiled at everyone on the phone, even though they couldn't see me.
Didn't lose my temper today, either. Wasn't even tempted. Maybe I was having a touch of cabin fever last week. Whatever it was, it's gone for now. It's springtime in the coastal hills and I feel wonderful.
