I was sitting on my couch this evening reading when I looked out my window and suddenly, so suddenly, the tree that scrapes against the glass on windy nights was bright green and alive. It wasn’t on Friday, there were still buds. I thought about how fast the world comes back to life once winter’s cold blanket has finally been put away.
Today, as I drove back to Greenwich from the farm, through the windshield and the open windows of the car I had the same thought. The air is alive, the smell of apple blossoms, dandelions, cut grass, plowed fields and sunshine mixed, filling my lungs and making me smile from the inside out.
Apple blossoms fill every drive, every walk, every moment of upstate New York at the moment. I remember only one apple tree in Connecticut. It was next to our driveway, shading the path to our back deck and for years it was…dead. I don’t mean, brittle and brown – there were still leaves, but no blossoms. Then, suddenly one spring, there were blossoms, hundreds and hundreds of blossoms from which apples grew. It was an awakening, a rebirth.
That’s how I feel, the warm air, the sunshine, the delicate and pure fragrance the apple blossoms give off if the wind is just right and you’re perfectly placed.