they wave and tower and rustle against the screens, and i find secret pleasure in stealing away to that corner of new green to read for a few moments, or to sit and absorb their whisperings.
soon summer will scorch them into overgrown blighted prickly things, and i'll cut them back to the earth where they'll wait patiently, dreaming up next year's coils.
also, and completely unrelated to spring, my kid does this thing where she copies me. lately she arranges photoshoots, constructing a camera from legos, lining up her cortege of generic polly pocket dolls, snapping away.
between frames, she'll offer bits of encouragement to her subjects: 'delightful!' and 'oh, that one was simply perfect!' (i find this behavior both amusing and terrifying. amusing because she wants to be just like me. terrifying because she wants to be just like me.)
and then comes my very favorite part, when she draws up the photographs.
i never adequately understand or anticipate the workings of her mind, but kid-brain, i adore you.