Last year the drought of summer killed part of the yard, and Charlie trampled around on the straw-like grass tearing it up into dirt patches that later turned into mud over the winter.
I like to see everything slowly begin to green in the yard as life returns from dormancy, but the big barren spots from the extreme trauma have remained. I reseeded the back yard and have been diligently watering the mud patches, hoping for some germination.
And, then, one day, I got a whiff of lilacs.
Then the next day, the columbine bloomed.
And, soon, the bushes began to sprout color on the stems.
Charlie likes to "help" water the grass. His favorite part is chasing the end of the hose as I roll it back onto the reel. Being outside is his favorite even though it inflames his allergies, requiring us to give him two doses of Benadryl a day. He couldn't be happier in the sun.
Spring also brings the end of the school year, with books, assignments, checklists, and late-work strewn haphazardly on my desk.
The greatest spring moments are the brief pauses on the patio, in a chair, not thinking anything specific, not doing anything productive. Just breathing, watching nothing in particular. Existing in a moment of relaxation.
Michelle, who doesn't particularly like to be outdoors, even lingered for a moment. Of course, Charlie needed to be there too.