Lush

Looking back at this week's posts, I realized that I may have given my blog a kiss of death by writing about just that -- death and grammar. It's a weekend, I'm about to begin a wine and distillery tour kicked off with the best crepes this side of Paris, and I won't be writing. Instead, I'll start the weekend with this salute to spring showers.

Colorful Swedes despite a gray, rainy day / Photo by Deborah Lynch July 2013

The scent of wet dirt and slugs waft onto my porchas a steady beat of rain falls on freshly planted flowers and herbs. No thunder or lightening yet today, but it's in the forecastto follow up on several weeks of rain and storms. Gloomy, depressing, and frightening for so manywho lament storms that remind them of tragedy, both personal and historic. Trees fall, crops are flooded, innocent are killed by the wrathof thunderstorms, typhoons, tornadoes that spring unleashes around the world. A British World War II bride ensconced in the United States for 65 yearstrembles at thunder that thrusts her into a basement as war planes fly overhead. I, on the other hand, feel euphoria at flashes of lightningthat brought me hours of freedom from a metal body brace in my youth. Bjorn Borg-designed galoshes and children playing gleefully in bibbed rain gearare nostalgic memories of gray Stockholm days as colorful perfection. I acknowledge the paradox, which creates an even greater needto protect my naivety. I allow my gaze to fall on the lush green that surrounds me.

Magnolias brighten any day anywhere / Photo by Deborah Lynch March 2016