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Spring has finally arrived. It wasn't the martin scouts returning last week, or the first swallows of the season this week seen in the neighborhood. It wasn't the peach tree in bloom up the street or the minute blades of blue eyed grass bravely rising above the scorched grass out front.
It was the rain. Not just the high humidity that leaves a heavy dew on the vehicles and plants each morning. Not the teasing of clouds covering the sun for the afternoon only to clear by evening.
It came in slowly. With a northern chill.
There was an audible sigh as the earth relaxed. We've been without rain for almost 2 years. That's a long time not to feel falling water--on your skin and in the air.
The equinox is this week--where Spring has historically been officially welcomed. The sloughing off of old skins, of thick winter blankets, of old ways. The celebration of all things new; rebirth.
A season of hope.