I’ve been living here intermittently since 1983 and I haven’t seen a springtime like it. Sad.
In the fashion-boutique windows, flirty little wisps of flowered fabric, summer skirts and halters, are sad in the wet grey light; I suppose lots more languish unworn in closets and drawers all over town.
The magnolia blossoms shed their pods a couple of weeks ago, but there’s been no sun to coax the flowers open, and now the petals are falling, wet on the wet moss.
