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Here's what I thought I knew: autumn is my favourite season. Here's what I found out yesterday: spring might be my new favourite season.
I have never been drawn to the freshness of spring, the exuberant overgrowth, the enthusiasm, the "here I AM" of spring. Oh, I've liked forsythia, species tulips, lilacs. But for the most part, spring has left me cold (and in Toronto, that has been literally true—our one day of spring, usually toward the end of May, is as chilly as late winter).
So what has changed? Yesterday morning I went for a walk. Whether it is the case every year or whether this is some unusual phenomenon or whether I've just never noticed it—I cannot say. But here's what I saw. The trees are still winter-bare as they meet the sky. Squirrel nests in their dead-leaf splendour stud the notches. Limbs lead to branches that lead to twigs, and all of them are reaching, reaching. (I do know I don't notice this much in winter because I face winter with my head down, chin tucked in, huddled.)
But yesterday's almost-warm air allowed me to walk erect, gazing at what rose above me. And here's what I saw: at the end of each twig was a ball. The trees were heavily dotted with little balls, all the same size on any given tree, but varying from pea-sized to marble-sized depending on the type of tree and/or the tree's position with respect to the sun.
I couldn't help but smile. Each tree was adorned with ball fringe, a now-outdated fashion trim that my mother used liberally, often on curtains but also on clothing for her daughters. Think of the tiny swinging balls around the brim of a gaucho's hat and you'll know what ball fringe is.
Or just look at the trees. But look quickly. Yesterday they were perfect examples. Today's trees I haven't seen yet, but I know that within a few days the ball-looking buds will burst into leaf-shape and things will never be the same—for another year.
The buds will become leaves, which will enlarge until they obscure the raw skeletons of the trees. The naked essence will be clothed in green—all very well and natural, of course, but no longer the stark truth of winter trees festooned, in this particular moment of spring, with ball fringe. Quick! Look! Today! Yesterday!
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