Spring is a sneaky little bugger. If one does not consciously pay attention each day--even each hour--it has come and gone like a fast-moving train (for those unfamiliar with the concept, check out trains in Japan, Germany, and France).
The first signs are birdsong in the early morning hours, when most are asleep. The first visible signs are snowdrops and crocuses. Next, bright yellow forsythia bushes are difficult for even the disinterested to overlook, but turn to green before one gets used to them. Daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips follow in rapid succession, with the first fruit trees hot on their heels. Colorful varieties of cherry provide the most blatant announcement of the new season, causing even the blase to cast a glance at recently bare limbs. Closer observers will notice incipient buds on all branches, soon to unfold slowly each day into life-giving leaves.
If one does not pay attention to nature's unfolding spectacle, one will wake up one day to a mass of green and have to seek flowers in gardens. Many will ask: what happened to spring? Nature, like a good conjurer, has tickled its multi-faceted, multi-colored splendor out of soil, water, and air.
Since this old fool lives on a hill, I get to watch the change in season march up the hill from the flatland, extending my period of enjoyment. The show gets better each year, perhaps because I pay more attention...
Prior to writing novels, the author enjoyed a multifaceted career: from decorated combat aviator to advertising professional to global communications director of a major consumer brand. He has traveled the world and met sports, film and television stars, political leaders, and royalty. He graduated from Middlebury College, is married, lives in Germany, and has two grown children.