Spring.

Every house has a season, right?

You know – a season that shows off that particular home’s best features?

Like people have a good side, I think houses do too.

Or, I don’t know, maybe every house has the same best season.

Anyway.

This house for sure has a best season.

It’s spring.

For certain.

Spring.

When the heat is turned off so you aren’t cursing your cold fingers and wearing sixteen layers and seeing your breath in the laundry room and still paying four hundred plus dollars to the power man.

Spring.

When the window are open and the breeze is blowing and the green green green outside is just divine.

Spring.

When surprising flowers – fragrant and color-laden – are blooming everywhere and you and the kids bring them inside in armfuls to fill every empty bottle and cover every flat surface.

Spring.

When you don’t have to say with every other breath “shut the door”.

Spring.

When the front porch beckons you again and you find a great deal on low cost (and probably low quality but you don’t mind) wicker furniture to fill the empty spaces.

Spring.

When a day spent entirely at home and almost entirely out of doors feels like the vacation you’ve been wanting and costs you absolutely nothing.

Spring.

When the evenings are long and the mornings are cool and the breeze is generous and you know why poets sing this season’s praises.

Spring.

You are welcome to land here.  You are welcome to rest your wings and sit a spell.  You are welcome to make this century-old farmhouse your abode and your respite.

—————————-

“Is the spring coming?” he said. “What is it like?”…
“It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine…”
― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden