It’s always risky committing one’s “favorite†status to anything, particularly when it comes to seasons, but I’m going out on a limb (and qualifying it with a location) by saying that spring in Boston is one of mine. Fall and summer have their own enchantments (winter doesn’t even rate anything other than derision at this point) but spring carries within it an inherent sense of hope and happiness. Everything is fresh and vibrant and new, nothing has been spoiled by excessive heat or summer storms, and there’s a Gatsby-esque belief that anything is possible.
It helps when there are such pretty accessories as these blooms, which feel brighter after a lengthy season of grays and browns. Hell, they’re splendiferous – and I don’t say that about many things.
