I love my adopted second home.
Los Angeles has unique beauties. Tall palm trees sway against a background of snow-capped mountains, taking my breath away as I round a curve. Frequently, there is that rarified heavenly air: gentle, warm sun accompanied by a brisk, sprightly breeze. Summer in the sun, and fall in the shade. Delicious.
|(View from church in LA)|
Oh, and there are the cliffsides that swoop right down to the sea as you wind your way from Santa Monica to Malibu. Breathtaking views from high or low. Blindingly bright water sparkles on your left, boats bobbing; craggy cliffs loom over you on the right, houses hanging by a thread as they lean towards the sea.
There is nothing on earth like a Southern spring.
For me, specifically a Georgia spring.
I have been driving around this fairyland, wondering how in the world anyone could remain an atheist in such screamingly overt glory? They must be tough birds. Way tougher than me.
A Georgia spring does me in. Brings me to my knees. Brings tears to my eyes.
Every single time.
It is a Technicolor miracle taking place right before our eyes.
If we'll open them to see it.
How does life come back from death every single year?
Light come back from darkness?
Fecundity from barrenness?
Joy from mourning?
Hope from despair?
It was a long, hard winter.
But joy comes in the morning.
Spring life comes from winter’s death.
A reminder that we are being renewed every day, just as the earth is every year.
I don’t take things like spring for granted anymore.
I hope I never will again.
I am trying to pay more attention. Get out there in it.
(Thumbing my nose at pollen allergies.)
And fall in love all over again.
Here's another one of Mimi's scrapbooks, celebrating spring. (With a large dose of "Grandma's Brag Book" thrown in.) If you're bored at work, feel free to share our family's photos. But please be kind. I don't claim to be a real photographer.
|Create your own slideshow|
(You need to hit "esc" at the end. If the music bugs you, just hit "mute.")