I want to dance in a field of poppies. No, tulips. Wait, do peonies grow in fields? I want to hide in a camellia bush, playing hide and seek after climbing crepe myrtles, wading through azalea bushes, picking snapdragons, and sniffing big blue hydrangeas the size of my head, growing in my Memaw’s front yard. It’s time for color to return to my world: green, green, green everywhere that feels like it will grow in my soul. Pinks and yellows and oranges and purples and how could I forget gerber daisies? They’re invited, too, to this party of flowers I am throwing in my imagination. Bare trees, brown grass, and dead leaves need not RSVP because they are not invited. They’ve already overstayed their welcome and left me wondering when they will finally make their exit, unwelcome guests they are. My arms are stretched wide, welcoming this spring season with greater anticipation than I ever remember having before. Her first day is technically today, but Atlanta has ushered her in coupled with rain and 50-degree air. My apologies, Spring, we’ll do better in a few days, I promise.