Scribbles & Munch

      It's that time of year in Ohio where the green of spring is fully sprouted, and the air is heavy with storms. The result is a feeling of lushness that makes every residential sidewalk, every overgrown ditch, every carefully planted park seem luxurious. It's as though nature has finally reached a point where she can relax; having made it through the winter, she has pushed forth new growth and nurtured it to the point of confidence. The heat and potential drought of summer is not yet come, but the risk of a late frost is far, far gone.
      Every tree branch heavy with vibrance reminds me of a young adult sprawling on a couch after receiving their first raise: the world is their oyster, indeed.
      Such a piquant moment in the season inspires me. It's a short story in light, in color, in scent and in sight. I wish I could bottle it, and sip it on cold winter days like a potent liquor. I wish I could stir it into lemonade, and enter the brew in a contest at a country fair (I'd win for sure). I wish I could rub it into the skin of my hands when a long day of work leaves my skin looking two decades older, and see time reverse itself over the landscape between my knuckles. I wish I could use it as lip gloss, and kiss my husband deeply.