April 21, 2005
Every year I think I remember from the previous year when the Oregon landscape started its transition from brown and smooshed to something verdant and fresh.
Two days ago on my way home from work I noticed the sunlight, for the first time since last fall, looked stable and not winter-fragile. The sky looked less watery.
But I have trouble remembering when this happens and when the other things happen. I use as a benchmark the year 2000, when I know by confluence of events that the magnolia trees at the corner of 18th and Salmon downtown bloomed during the first week of April. Dogwoods that year were at the beginning of May.
I remember the latter because David was enthused—he adores dogwoods, though both of us have strong opinions about which dogwoods are acceptable and which fall miserably short (aesthetically).
All the thoughts of spring leave an echo like applause in my head. This time of year makes me certifiably distracted. Not the best time to anticipate responsibility from me.
This year I think things shifted back. The dogwoods are already at the waning height of their empire (the ones surrounding the building at work are of the type David and I eschew). My bulbs are mostly done, with the last round of tulips considering their final flop and rot technique.