Out with Winter, that old goat.

In the middle of winter I never believe days like today to be possible. It's true I have never lived in the midwest or north or anyplace that will kill you with its cold. Transplants here from, say, upstate New York feel very lost not having blazing hillsides of autumn color, shrieking blizzards and yard-long icicles hanging from their eaves in winter. I'm attuned to the slightly more subtle changes of season that happen in most of California. As fall eases into winter, I notice the angle of the sun is lower on the horizon, there's a bit more chill earlier in the day, more dampness in the shade. Leaves drift away. Fog patterns change during the day.

In spring, the shift away from winter is as quiet. You might think you'd seen the blossoms on fruit trees earlier in the month but cannot actually recall when that might have been. Though living on the coast moderates the wild swings of temperature you'd see inland to a sometimes boring sameness through all the seasons, you learn to look very closely to notice tiny signs of change.

Today is spectacular. I'm sure anyone coming to town this weekend would be rendered giddy and lovestruck by the intense colors of, well, everything. Sky, trees, weeds, ocean, houses, even trash I guess. "Have you ever seen anything like that?" Go down and look at the Magic Carpet succulent ground cover along Ocean View Boulevard. It's a vivid Pepto Bismol pink done in zillions of tiny flowers.

The year is still building toward the apex of summer. When I kept bees years ago, peak honey flow would begin now, the hives rocking and rolling like little aircraft carriers with bees zooming in and out around the clock. Workers carried home gobs of nectar in their bellies, vomited it out as honey and jetted back out for another run to trees and bushes. Did you know that honey is bee barf? Maybe gross, but very true. There is really no better fragrance in nature than a bee hive opened after the keeper's smoke has layered over the waxen honeycomb. The bees sense smoke, rush around thinking there is trouble, gorge on honey and then can't bend in the middle to sting. They all turn into little couch potatoes looking for the ottoman and a beer. "Good grief, I shouldn't have eaten so much, but wasn't that honey GREAT?" Little bee slobs, drunkenly wobbling around in a daze.

I went out into my back patio a while ago and was just floored by the array of finery everywhere. I had the good sense to apply top dressing to all my containers earlier this year, pruned the snarf out of my roses and bushes and just hoped God would be kind enough to send along some rain. She did and I am so grateful I cannot say. I won't list my flowers' names because I don't actually know them all, but mostly there is purple, lavendar and white. Every blossom is a miracle - just look up close and there you'll see many of them. It's like when you see a baby sleeping, all perfect, warm, growing right before your eyes. How could anyone possibly, even remotely, believe that man can improve on nature? "After the artist, only the copyist."

My Meyer lemon is looking more promising than ever. Meyer lemons are to ordinary lemons as Belgian chocolate is to Whitman's. Can't compare. Don't even try. So, I go out to my patio and caress the leaves gently, admire the small green lemons-to-be and talk quietly, praising the effort of the tree. Once in a while, not daily. I'm not THAT bad yet. You can be a little silly in spring. It begs for it. A mom calls her kids, "Come and eat!" and nature on spring mornings calls, "Come and look! I've tossed winter out, that old goat!"

So, today it's obvious winter is gone and spring is in full cry. My faith is renewed and my optimism refreshed.