In Wyoming, it seems as though spring comes unannounced. Cold, windy months and few hours in the daylight leave little room for reprieve – just a hope and a promise that eventually, things will change. Just as I’m convinced that it will never happen, a warm breeze wraps around the city of Casper. Through a unified slack of shoulders, people enter rooms exclaiming about how nice the weather is, pulling out their trusty pair of jorts, and walking with a pep in their step that’s been dragging all winter. It’s a wonder how many middle-aged, white men can say, “Beautiful day out there, isn’t it?” But this Wyoming quirk that has amused me for so long has now become an endearing piece of what I will remember about home. 

Beyond the sigh of relief that you no longer need to scrape ice off your car in the morning, what feels like spring to you? For me, spring feels like cutting my hair, ripe blackberries, an untimely joke that irradicates the idea of redundant small talk, and Gypsy by Fleetwood Mac playing through the radio. Synonymous in their respite but living on separate roads entirely. I think that summarizes our experience with spring – unified in our joy for a new season, regardless of our own season of life.

Similarly, last week I was driving to a tattoo appointment when I saw a row of cherry blossom trees. I pulled over on the side of the road and went to admire them. Almost hypnotic, I held a blossom in my hand, acknowledging that spring actually did come. It’s as though I couldn’t look away, feeling like its mere existence was a sign that the worst had passed. An inconspicuous banter for weeks, a part of me though that winter might stay forever. As I looked up from the flower, a mother and her newborn baby were passing by. Framed by the row of blossom trees, the sunshine poured through, creating a luminist piece to witness. She rolled her stroller to a stop, stretching her arm up to grab a flower from the tree. As she reached inside the stroller to show her baby, she said, “Look how pretty this is!”, twirling the flower in her fingers. As I looked around, a world full of life was mirrored back to me. In the ironic circumstance of driving to place permanent ink onto my body, I was confronted with the idea that the world is always changing and as each cycle concludes, we are presented with the gift of new flowers, new breath, and a glimpse of spring around every corner.