J'attends l'été

It's a breezy day out there. The Lake is fantastically choppy, studded with those chaotic natural forms which gave the Classicists such heebie-jeebies. Good thing I'm a Romanticist in these matters! But it was on the walk east that the winds stirred the most unexpected reaction in me. I was approaching the corner of Glenwood when I heard something I hadn't for months now: the rustle of leaves overhead. It's only in the past couple weeks that the sugar maples have leafed out; I keep abreast of their progress by periodically gazing out at them from the front room. But it's been too chilly to crack the windows for a while, so I'm deprived of the aural element. Suddenly, on the way to work this morning, I heard summer.

It's got a ways to come yet, of course. This is one of the sweetest and most extended springs I can remember in all my years in Chicago. The Bradford pears came unexpectedly early and are already petering out. But the other flowering trees--crabapples, dogwoods, hawthorns, redbuds, sand cherries, and more--are just getting started. On Sheridan, the spirea is already in bloom, but in the shade garden just over the rise from where I work, late-blooming daffodils are in full flower. Irises and peonies are in the bud, but I've yet to see my first flag. And yet today I noticed a columbine that had snuck into bloom without me suspected a thing. Everything feels a bit jumbled, but in a good way, like an interesting new salad.

Note: Il y a un calembour à ce titre. Quelqu'un sait ce que c'est?