SPRINGTIME

Baby buds appear on the trees.

I love springtime in Georgia.

Bradford pears. Forsythia. Cherry blossoms. Dogwoods. Magnolias. Azaleas.

Never mind that Bradford pears in bloom smell like ass. Never mind that the combined Pollen Count of all of these Spring Blooming Plants results in a radioactive, glowing, yellowish-green cloud that sends grizzled veterans of World War I mustard gas attacks scurrying for their masks, while coating every outdoor object in a carpet-like layer of ochre spooge. Never mind that, after weeks of blossomy aftereffects, I feel as though I need a lung transplant.

I look around at Georgia in springtime, and it’s worth every hack and sneeze.


[Click to embiggen.]

Of course, there is a certain amount of unpredictability. The azalea blossoms you see here were photographed just before a major cold snap rolled in, bringing temperatures down to below freezing. They don’t look quite as spiffy today, alas.

But that’s springtime. Ephemeral: here today, gone tomorrow, with the blossoms replaced by leaves and the crisp mornings replaced by steamy afternoons. I wouldn’t have it any other way.