The Emerald City

We've had such a batch of rainy, drizzly, misty days, that spring came on just saturating the landscape with this intense, intense green everywhere. The layers of landscape that overwhelmed me last fall are now equally stunning in other colors. Even on gray days, now, the curving farm-bordered road to work is entrenched in color. It's really like falling into a movie where an artist like Jeunet played around with the palette.

We have a tornado warning/watch, and it's silly to be nervous but here, in the eerie light that feels compressed by this thick, hot air, I'm looking up at the sky, peeking out of the window every few minutes like some loony shut-in. I've had dreams where tornadoes are - right there. Some days are like this, I guess, feeling squished between some pure, deep happiness and pulsing panic. There are times when I'm hugging Langston and it's sweet like nothing else in the world, and I think, I wish morbidly, that if some massive disaster were impending, that my son would just be there, his back curled inside my arm, his head nestled against me like I'm that solid structure you're supposed to find, away from windows.