Between Times

Today, a former New Orleanian told me, "I love living in Birmingham where there are four seasons."

But there are more than four, I wanted to tell her. What about those in-between seasons? The time between winter and spring, say?

Spring officially starts tomorrow, but for me it began when the crocus poked their heads up and the witch hazel stretched out tendrils of line-yellow and other little blooming things pushed up through winter's trash. A bit of sun and warmth followed by a bit of fog and cold followed by a bit of . . .

I most love the in-between-seasons when what-goes and what-comes slide together into one technicolor dream of NOW.