Photo credit: Rob Thomas
The temperature outside is 48 degrees, which, after living in Rexburg for so long, seems incredible for early March. Beyond that, the sun is out, and there's not a vicious, spiteful wind to make me rue the misleading sunshine.
To take advantage of this fantastic weather, I went outside in capris and a t-shirt and lay spread-eagle on the concrete walk that runs along the side of my in-laws' house. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the yellow-green of my eyelids. You may question that, and say that it ought to be orange, at least.
But see, I had a flowerbed next to me from which the snow has melted, and so I could smell dirt. Dirt and sunshine with a bit of a chill speaks spring to me, and spring is that soft, yellow-green of my childhood on the Virginia/Tennessee border. The trees will all still be brown and spiky, and the brush will poke up beneath them, some of it curled from the weight of snow. But beneath that, everything is turning green, blending with the tans to make that peculiar yellow-green that I see behind my eyelids when I turn my face toward the sun and smell the dirt.
I stole this picture from a website pulled up by Google images. It looks just like several chimneys I saw growing up. And it looks like spring. Right down to the daffodils.