I’m grateful I live in a place that (usually) experiences all four seasons. While I see a fair number of discussions that Memorial Day typically introduces us to summer, here in Montana we are still experiencing, at best, spring. We’ve had periods of warm, clear weather, so everything is green and growing. But spring to me isn’t about just the sunny days either; just yesterday I took a deep gulp of one of my favorite indicators of the season and there was no sunshine in sight.
I’ve been laid up a few days with a knee injury that has left me essentially immobile, gulping high speed anti-inflammaries, and pretty much feeling sorry for myself. I surrendered in the afternoon to the fact that the only way to be comfortable was to be prone, so, with a couple hours to myself, I crawled into the sack with a book (The Fly Fisherman’s Guide to the Meaning of Life by Peter Kaminsky, if you must know). It was one of those days where even in mid afternoon it is almost dark because of the looming clouds. I had the windows wide open, and from my burrow I could see the mists in the mountains that hug the Clark Fork river just a mile or so distant from the house. Thunder rumbled a couple times and a steady downpour began. I had the ceiling fan in the room on, and that, combined with the breeze from outside, filled the air with the damp smells of spring rain and growing things. Rain drummed on the roof, and the trees across the street whooshed in the wind. Sore knee or not, it was almost intoxicating.
I dozed off to that and woke an hour later with a much better attitude. I thought about retrieving my phone from the nightstand to snap a picture in anticipation of this post, but I was too damn comfortable to be bothered to do so.