The last two days we've had practically perfect Seattle spring weather: wall to wall sunshine and 58°. Trees are blooming insanely (I'm allergic to tree pollen). Yesterday I sat outside for an hour, finishing Mary Stewart's Hollow Hills, with a cat asleep on my foot (and my foot asleep between his head and the deck). I didn't mind. I was deep in the fifth century, listening to the trees making that no-leaves-yet whisper in the afternoon breeze rising from the sound, to the rooster crowing far away, to the people across the ravine mowing their lawn.
Spring is definitely here. This is how the neighbourhood a little south and east of us looked earlier this week:
I breathe this every day
And here's our street the same day: fewer trees in bloom, all that snow still on the Olympics. A handy reminder to enjoy these days to the hilt, because in this neck of the woods, it's possible to get snow as late as May.