Written 20 April, 2007
I know it’s fashionable, especially as one ages, to like autumn, but I’ve always favored the spring.
No leaves to rake, for one thing.
The promise of life, for another.
My azaleas have been blooming like crazy. Atlanta has been a profusion of flowering dogwoods, tulip poplars, redbuds, tulips, and fruit trees, a city of purples and pinks and reds and whites and blue sky, when the rain has cut down on the pollen and pollution.
Atlanta is a beautiful place, and I live in a particularly pleasant corner of it. The little lake, only feet from my house, is populated by geese and children wading with their parents, the benches inviting me to venture down with my laptop or a book for an hour or so of tranquil enjoyment.
And where am I during all this profusion of springtime?
Up on the second floor, in Second Life.
Why aren’t I on the lake, basking in the sun?
Why aren’t I standing on a bluff in the North Georgia mountains, gazing out upon hazy range upon hazy range of the Blue Ridge?
Why haven’t I taken the subway downtown to see the Louvre exposition at the High Museum of Art?
Why aren’t I at a fine sidewalk restaurant, watching passersby and seeing just how hot the cook can make the Thai curry?
Resolved: To enjoy the springtime.