A Love Letter to Texas Springtime

Dear Spring,

You have nearly arrived. You teased us a couple of times throughout the Winter, sneaky you, but I’m glad you’re here to stay. I’m ready for the days where I don’t mind walking to my car, walking my dog, and I don’t have to run on the godforsaken treadmill because biting morning cold is just too much too early. Because you’re here, I can wear fewer layers of bulky clothes, and don’t have to panic if I leave the house without a scarf. Your warmth is a welcome visitor.

I know you won’t be here long, but I intend to enjoy every minute of your visit.

Texans everywhere rejoice your arrival. We have been aching for longer days that stretch into the night, but the darkness that the sunset brings us no reason to go inside. We linger on restaurant patios, turn our heads to the West every evening, and take our dogs an extra lap around the block. We roll our windows down & our sunroofs back, and let the warmth of your sun envelop us.

You, Texas Spring, give us the greatest gift of all seasons. You give us the Wildflowers.

Early Spring rains make the stiff, graying grass soften and transform into the most vibrant green fields. Soon enough, a thick blanket of wildflowers in every color imaginable completely covers every open field, every patch of grass on the side of the highway, and every crack of green in between. Despite the obvious cliche, I’d be hard pressed to find a Texan who can resist the Siren Song that the Bluebonnets sing; they draw us in and we feel compelled to take photos in them - we just can’t help but fill our phones with an obscene number of pictures.

Why is it that we have this compulsion to literally roll around in fields of wildflowers? What makes us get down on the ground, close to the earth, and capture the moment?

Slowly, quietly, I think I’m figuring our why.

Spring, you are fleeting. The delights you bring are short-lived, and before we can blink, you are gone, replaced with a scorching Summer. The wildflowers die, leaving their seeds to sow for next year. Cool breezes are replaced with arid hot air. I put my summer scarves away, because, for yet another year, there really just isn’t a reason to wear one of those anyways.

Spring, You give us all of the best that Texas can offer: warmth without sweating through our clothes, a cool breeze to that keeps us from being too warm, and a rainbow of colors in every bit of nature. Everything, from the sound of the wind lazily blowing through the leaves on our oak trees, to the bright, hot light from an epic sunset, to the goosebumps that crawl on our skin when the cool night replaces the warm sun. Everything you give us is gentle, is lovely, and is precious. Were it to last any longer, it would no longer be those things; they would just be ordinary. Your short but impactful visit helps us to cherish the things you bring.

We miss you when you’re gone. We yearn for you through the blazing Summer, and the wild winters that can’t quite make up their mind. (Fall, you don’t even really exist in Texas, so, sorry to not include you on this one.) When your time comes, though, Spring, we invite you in, we relish you, and we hold you close.

Sincerely,

Elizabeth