2008-04-12 - 7:03 p.m.

...Fruehlingszeit macht Heimweh...

I woke up this morning and was hit over the head (in a good way) by Spring. WOW. Already at the crack of dawn - >>CRACK<< I could tell from the smell of the air that it was going to be day with brilliant weather. "Kaiser Wetter" or "Emporer's weather" as they say in Germany.

And then I was immediately homesick for Springtime in every place I've ever lived: Queens (yes, even Queens!), Germany, New York's Hudson River Valley, Rhode Island, St Louis, and the farm.. Not Sweden. huh. interesting.

Spring just floods me with poignant and happy memories. In NYC I remember blossoming dogwoods on the streets of my neighborhood in Queens, and coffees in the Village with Kay.

In Germany, Spring brought abundant holidays, bicycle rides through the park, wine in the garden, beers on the square, late evening sun, and the aemsel's most brilliant song.

I take it back. I also remember the return of the sun and the singing aemsel in Sweden, especially during my walks through the cemetery in Lund. Oh, and the punctual Magnolias that opened promptly on May 1. I remember walking up Lund's tallest (only) hill (which was right across the road from the famous Hotel Ghingis Khan / Best Western - don't ask), and squinting my eyes to see the windmill fields across the Sea in Denmark. And drinking Milk Coffees at the restaurant on the main square while it was still freezing cold, piled under blankets.

In the Hudson River Valley, I can still hear the Spring peepers and the softness of the air as it cooled in the evening. The bluegrass band on the green in Piermont. The sound of boat lines clinking against masts on the Hudson. Cherry blossoms. Tree leaves bursting open everywhere with the color of just-undercooked broccoli. Driving in my car with the sunroof open, blasting out Beethoven's Seventh Symphony.

In Providence? It was the end of salty rains and mist, the arrival of soft warm air, the return to jogging, and the explosive opening of azaleas in that tremendous shade of magenta.

In St Louis Spring meant late nights out with my 'gang' - and driving home late at night down Wydown Blvd with my windows (and that same sun roof) open so that I could catch whiffs of the blossoms from the middle island. I was either blasting out music from my tape of Cat Stevens' Tea for the Tillerman (when my stereo worked) or I was singing my entire repertoire of Fats Waller, pretending that I might someday be a famous torch song crooner.

And what about the farm? I remember the awakening sounds of the lake, a carpet of dandelions rolled out across the field, working in the garden, and little league baseball.

As for Funcouver? Today we took a walk down to Trout Lake and watched the families play on its little beach. I walked around the lake several times. We listened to birds, and enjoyed lunch in the sun on the back porch. I felt the irresistable pull from the pots on the terrace - they are begging me to fill them with something green and flowering. You never know what will stick in your memory as the constants of a place, but I imagine thise pots are in there for the long haul.

Funny, I've always thought of myself as an Autumn person, and yet I miss all of those places every Spring, and my memories of them fill me with happiness, even though I was not necessarily happy in those places. But I'm glad once again for the impressionistic brush of time - the further you stand from the dots, the more beautiful the pictures become for us. Maybe I'm a Spring person after all...