Magnolias, crocuses, crabapples

Glorious day, rapture in the morning, sunshine on my hair, and green things on the trees, spring is finally here.

After weeks of rain and clouds and cold and more clouds, after a Nor'easter that nearly blew the marathoners out to sea, after blowing through two umbrellas and a pair of brand new boots, Spring has finally constented to peer her pale green head up out of the dark loam. The crocuses, usually blowsy and past their prime in March, are still here in demure banks of puple and white, alongside a blast of daffadowndillys and the first Crayola yellow splatters of forsythia.

There's a very small, nearly sturnted magnolia tree on the bike path. It's only slightly taller than May when she's standing up. Every day for a month we've wheeled the stroller through the black, sticky mud (thank you, Jeep, for fat knobbly tires!) and checked out one fat, furry bud on the end of a branch that's jsut the right height.

Every day I promised May, "Soon there will be flowers." Big fat liar, me. But with the sun and the warm yesterday and today, finally the waxy white leaves are starting to slip out of their fuzzy calyx. By tomorrow, we'll have flowers. I hope.

Next to it, there's a mini orchard of flowering crabapples with tiny leaves no bigger than May's thumbnail. They weren't there at all Thursday, then just a hint of green Friday. Within a week, they will be fully unfurled.

The vernal pools alongside the bike path are slowly shrinking, and the college students are all out in flip flops and shorts. Kids are shrieking and running -- May is tearing down the bike path at top speed and then suddenly drops into a squat to examine some small thing, an ant or a rock or a fallen piece of paper. It's finally, finally, finally spring and we're all mad for it.

That's all I have to say.