Pink and blue hyacinths, crocuses of various colors sprinkled like stars all over the lawns, red tulips, yellow daffodils, both miniature and regular, all nodding in the intense breeze like fragrant little headbangers all grooving to Queen. . . .

What’s not to like about Spring?

Besides the mud, that is. The incessant, shoe-sucking, sock-drenching, tracked-in mud. . . .

But except for that, what’s not to like?

I can’t think of a thing, off-hand.

I do, ridiculously, resent the fact that “spring” is not supposed to be capitalized, but that is one of the few rules of standard English grammar that I take great pleasure in ignoring. I capitalize Spring. For winter, summer, and fall, I’m not so adamant, but Spring is too much like a human being not to be capitalized. I don’t even feel bad about not capitalizing ‘autumn,’ but then, autumn is not Spring.

It’s really here, too. I know it is. The wasps are out in full force today, and until we spray the deck, I can’t go out there barefoot any more. Plus, someone down the road mowed their grass yesterday and we can smell the cut grass-and-wild-onions all up and down our road. I love that smell.

And back in the woods, the ground is covered with Trilliums. This thrills me, it really does.

Obviously, since I’m sitting right here, I’m not outside breathing in the fresh air, but that’s because the sun is out in full force, and I can’t do that. Not any more. Gosh, back in the day, I used to mix baby oil and merthiolate and coat myself, and lay out by the side of the public pool to marinate. Now, a few minutes in the bright sunshine and my skin nearly explodes. Yes, I am the extremely large and really pale and pasty one, there in the corner. I have tons of hats, but I can’t stand for something to touch my head, so I just wait until darkness falls, like the vampire I so obviously am.

But I can see it all out the windows, and for now, that’s good enough.

Welcome, sweet capitalized Springtime, we greet thee in song.