One season ends another begins. Winter gives way to a barrage of colors and perfume, dazzling our minds with serious questions as, "Do I take a coat, maybe a sweater…" Spring is sneaky, teasing us with afternoons that are deceivingly warm yet brings on chilly nights to remind us that summer it is not.
Strawberries, daffodils, cotton… yardwork.
Transition between the two seasons French Husband wears a jacket until it is 100 degrees outside. I usually trust it is going to be nice weather and end up begging FH for his jacket.
First rose.
Roll the windows down.
Asparagus.
After seeing shutter after shutter closed, I was feeling like it was a ghost town.
Les Temps des Petites Cigales, postcards of Provence.
The time of the little Cicadas.
I know they do not start their summer songs for months to come.
But the young man in the window, having lunch, while on a break, reassured me of the gentleness of spring.
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