I wish you could see how perfect spring in Ohio is.
I wish you could see how brightly the sun shines and how lovely the wind blows.
How wonderful 72 degrees feels.
How fresh the air smells.
How every driver in every car has both windows down and their elbow hanging out the side.
How every house and every apartment has at least one window open from the time they arrive home from work until the time they go to bed.
How the cats sit at the open window sills behind the screens, soaking in the fresh air and listening intently to the chirping of birds.
I smile at them and stop for a moment to say hello and enjoy them, because I miss my own little window-watcher.
I wish you could smell how the air is perfumed with charcoal from all the people firing up their grills as the sun begins to set.
How soft and lush and green the grass is.
How the trees are just aching for someone to string a hammock on them.
How many people are out strolling with their families, playing catch with their kids, walking with their dogs, and running or biking for exercise in the evening.
How many people I see sit down for a family dinner at the table beside an open window.
How many people sit out on their front or back porches – barefooted – with their feet just grazing the grass, and a glass of sangria in hand as honking geese fly overhead.
How nice it truly is at dusk because it’s too early for the mosquitoes yet, but I can feel how close we are to the impending firefly season.
I wish you could see the fire engine red cardinals, royal bluejays, and orange-breasted robins that have taken up residence in our yard and listen to their pretty songs.
How the trees are in full bloom with vivid pink and white and yellow buds, and how the daffodils pepper the highways.
I still miss the fields of colorful Texas wildflowers and I yearn for bluebonnets, but our own view isn’t half-bad either.
I’ve never liked spring. Until I moved to Ohio.
Last night we slept with our windows wide open. This weekend I washed my car, we swept the porch free of dry winter leaves, and took a walk through a lovely cemetery beside our house. Then we sat on our back porch for a good many hours working on our taxes. Yesterday I drove with my windows down, my elbow hanging out the side. I took pictures of flowering trees. I opened all of our windows and made a dinner of Cesar salad, French bread, garlic dipping oil, green grapes, blocks of pepper jack and cheddar cheese, slices of salami, a medley of olives, and a bottle of sangria. We talked and listened to the birds and ate slowly. Then I went for a long walk around the neighborhood before the sun set, and spent even longer sitting on the back porch with that glass of sangria, barefooted, as the geese honked overhead, until nightfall.
I could get used to this.
