Springtime in the foothills

I am relishing my first spring in East Tennessee. I live in a “bowl,” an area of geography nestled between mountain ranges that benefits from both the shield and run-off from those peaks. It’s an area that experiences all four seasons, but none of them too harshly. It snows in winter, but doesn’t typically blizzard. Summer is warm, but not blistering. 

Right now, it is spring. Dogwood has bloomed. Azaleas are blossoming everywhere. A thin layer of pollen covers ... everything. Bumble bees and butterlifes abound. Every so often the temperature dips down into the 40s, particularly at night, but the days tend to be sunny and pleasant. An afternoon drive reveals wildflowers, young creatures, gurgling streams, and new grass. 

I lived in Florida for so long, where springtime seemed an abbreviated season rushed through for the purpose of getting to the blazing heat of summer.  Here, the breakthrough from winter to spring is renewal and rebirth. It is time to shed the layers of cold and dreariness, languidly stretch toward the sun, and welcome all that is new.