Spring has arrived earlier than last year here in Wisconsin, but later than the year before and the year before that.
Nonetheless, we are grateful that most of the snow is gone, thanks to a run of 45-to-60 degree days and a fair amount of sunshine. I love the washed-with-sunlight look of late March and early April. But the landscape is still gray and tan and colorless, as the rains have not yet turned the lawns to green and there are still patches of blackened snow along the curbs and in low shady places behind the horse barn.
I cannot help but recall that six months ago, I was languishing by the side of a pool in the southwest of France, sipping Malbec and breathing deeply of the country air, midway between the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea. The wind rumbles low along the causses and ripples through the fir trees and through the rows of vines in the vineyards.
The photo above was taken that very day on the terrace of the house we rented, known here as Chez Bateau.
A Sunday in France is a day to be celebrated.
So is a Sunday in spring. How will you celebrate?