Spring

Been reading Hemingway's A Moveable Feast recently and it has immediately become my favorite thing he has written. As I'm reading it, I've been blessed to be lounging on my parent's glorious screened in porch with afternoon rains serenading on the tin roof. I love spring-it's like atmospheric hope. So in honor of both spring and Hemingway, here is an excerpt from A Moveable Feast:

“I could never be lonely along the river. With so many trees in the city, you could see the spring coming each day until a night of warm wind would bring it suddenly in one morning. Sometimes the heavy cold rains would beat it back so that it would seem that it would never come and you were loosing a season out of your life. This was the only truly sad time in Paris because it was unnatural. You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason.

In those days, though, the spring always came finally but it was frightening that it had nearly failed.”

- Ernest Hemingway, “A Moveable Feast”


Blessings,

KB

P.S. Anything by John Denver feels good today.