Spring cleaning madness has descended. I spent the morning washing down the counters and scrubbing the cutting boards with salt and lemon. Everything feels stale after the New England winter, so I've got the windows open even though it's slightly too cold to do that now that the radiators have cooled.
This is my favorite time of year: right now, and the next month or so. It was over 60 degrees on Tuesday. We walked up Mass Ave yesterday and saw rows and rows of pansies out for sale by Pemberton Farms. I'm at the library now, watching a slow rain fall on the trees outside, heavy with buds.
This season feels harsh, in a refreshing way. It's still brisk outside, but I get overzealous (because it's April; winter's over, right?) and then freeze when I wear a sweater to work instead of a coat. The early blooms (forsythia, crocus) are acid-toned and incongruous against the dull brown muddy yards. It's overcast most of the time, with fog and rain. I like this kind of weather better than bright sunny days. Everything feels close, whereas unmitigated sun can make the day feel so vast in an empty and unfillable way. Only sometimes, mind. I like summer, too. But April--April is a big favorite around here.
