March is teasing us with a few days of sunshine. I am soaking it up, loving every minute of the warm sun on my skin. Ethan likes it too, endless hours in his sandbox.
I put sunscreen on today and the smell made me happy. So did washing my husband's shorts-I just love him in shorts and flip flops. I switched out the cold clothes for the warm ones, and once again my closet is full of pinks, greens, and whites--the colors of spring.
I fell in love with Joey in the spring, just on the verge of summer, and I tend to think that if for some reason winter would have lasted longer than usual that year, maybe I never would have. Long evening walks with the crickets chirping and sweet smells of blooms have a tendency to break down walls.
The memories are part of the reason I love summer and the warm days of spring above all the rest: they are a gentle and warm reminder of that young, crazy love that beats on through the mundane, cold winter days, which, I imagine, we still have a couple left (it's supposed to snow on Sunday).
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