Sunflowers

It's officially spring--the vernal equinox has passed, daylight saving time has begun, and my mind makes its annual turn to the outdoors.  I see inspiration all around me:  daffodils start to compete with the crocus, tulips hold my gaze and then, suddenly, sunflowers!  The landscape feels freshly-painted;  I am in love with it all!

I return to the Farmer's Market and drool over yellow carrots, heirloom tomatoes, zucchini blossoms.  I think of asparagus tartes, lamb's lettuce glistening with new potatoes and fava beans, artichokes snuggled in a row waiting to blossom at my table.

I feel resuscitated;  I want to fall in love again;  I browse the bikinis...and pinch my waist.  Spring gives the impression that you can start fresh.  This is when those New Year's resolutions really should be happening.  Spring holds such promise, so much hope for the possible.  How can you re-birth yourself when everything around you is dead?  The Persians have it right, celebrating their New Year on the cusp of Spring.

The rut of squash and root vegetables that my repetoire has been grinding out gets rinsed away with spring showers and every week, there's an old friend I haven't seen in a while in the produce section:  snap peas, morel mushrooms, white asparagus.  I stir fry, chopping and dicing.  I blanche thin asparagus, pouring a custard carefully into a rosemary crust.  I collect and cut a cornucopia of vegetables for my luscious--yes!  LUSCIOUS!--minestrone.

Spring returns the light to our lives.  The sun stays up, dinner becomes al-fresco, maybe even a picnic at the park.  Your shoulders relax.  You get your flip-flops out  (and then you get a pedicure).  It's time to clean out your closet and think about putting those sweaters away.  Time to plant those herbs, re-hang the hammock, mow the lawn, re-arrange those kitchen cupboards. 

Spring is a transition, a turning from inward reflection to outward joy.  Be that sunflower, face up to the sun.