We're being kissed by spring today. Here's a little Wordsworth to celebrate:

It is the first mild day of March:
Each sweeter than the day before,
The red-breast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside our door.
There is a blessing in the air,
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and the mountains bare,
And grass in the green field.

Seriouly folks, it is lovely out. About seventy five degrees and so breezy. The kind of wind that is blowing all the winter away. Jonquils are nodding, cherry blossoms are blustering. I'm reminded of one of my favorite childhood books called Hamilton Duck's Springtime Story. Callum has it, I think, up in his room. I'll have to find our copy.

This is the kind of weather that makes me want to change all sorts of things in my house and paint every room a bright, sunny yellow. Like this and this. My mom's coming for a visit tomorrow and we're thinking of all sorts of fun things to do, and I wickedly want to add, "paint the dining room" to the list. You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you mom? I've never been totally happy with the color (don't tell Neel), and as the sun is higher in the sky and the air is blowing warm life back into us, it feels dark and heavy in there. (And you know, I totally thought I'd written a post about my secret dislike of the dining room color, but I can't find it anywhere. Clearly this is a simmering-below-the-surface issue for me.)

So as the clouds skuttle across a wind-swept sky and the jonquils and grape hyacinth nod in the breeze (must. get. photos. of. grape. hyacinth. tomorrow.), I want my inner space to reflect the same light. I'm thinking a clear, shining blue. For spring.

However, they are calling for snow on Monday.