Spring in the Pacific NW is rolling out the green carpet in anticipation of Summer. Fields. Meadows. Weedy roadside patches. Ball parks. Trees in full leaf. Every green named on the color palette is displayed and then some. A robust aliveness as I walk the neighborhood with Joey the Pug.

As I mentioned in my last post, Spring seemed to arrive early this year; our Winter was mild. Camellia were in full bloom in February. Then in quick succession it was Magnolia, Cherry, Dogwood, Lilac, Rhododendron and now Hydrangea are coming on strong. Old fashioned Roses are fragrancing the air. It is easy to forget that Spring’s grandeur would not be possible without Decay and Death (yes, I went there). Each daily shift in landscape is a reflection of a blossom or leaf falling back into soil to make way for future harvest. For growth. Sure, some seasons it is more pronounced, but the cycle of Birth, Death, Rebirth is continual.

Spring—it has arrived early in the Pacific NW, at least where I live. Or maybe it is because I walk Joey the Pug twice a day I have time to “micro notice” the subtle changes of the season. And my noticing changes depending on weather, Sun and Moon’s position in the sky, time of day, what I’ve been reading/watching/listening to, my body’s strength (or aches,) Joey and my pace, etc. Slowing down though, has been essential.

Daffodils began blooming in early February. In my likely faulty recollection is it is usually March before they truly bedazzle gardens and roadsides. Winter birds songs have shifted from rehearsal to full-on symphony mode. The House Finches are back flitting from the barely budding Dogwood to the birdbath on my deck and I am guessing nest building is well underway in anticipation of mating season.

It is deep Autumn in the Pacific Northwest. My intention was to write this newsletter soon after the equinox passed, but enamored with cooler and shorting days, Leaves riotous shift in color schemes, Rain’s thunderous return and my own deepening “apprenticeship with slowness,” one week fell into another and, well, here we are.

My body exhaled when Summer finally left the scene (though there was a pale pink Rose in the neighborhood that was still offering spicy, peppery scents until it was cut back to my astonishment just a few days ago. After all, I wasn’t done with my daily “sniffs.”) Summer was difficult for me. I wrote about my malaise on Substack: “merging with the deepening of autumn.” These days Sun skims morosely along the Tree line as if annoyed at not being the star of the show. On cloudless days, Sun glares through windshields and shows all the dirty streaks on kitchen windows, a reminder of its brilliance. And I appreciate its gentle warming of my abode. No need to turn on the heat. We call a truce.