There are four months I absolutely love.
July for its piercing blue skies, flowerbeds a blaze of color, and sizzle-bright days that last far into evening.
October with every hue of red, yellow, and orange turning the trees to flame.
December, because my appreciation for Christmas could shame a six-year-old.
April is pure energy. The air practically sparks with it. On cloudy days, the chartreuse of new leaves stands out electric against the somber gray of the sky.
Flowering trees scream, “look at me! Look at me!”
Sweet, startling scents ambush you around every corner.
And you can almost see the plants growing, like those stop-motion films they showed back in third grade.
Do I have a favorite month? At this moment it’s April, but come summertime, it will be July. And when the leaves begin to change, October will bump its way to the top, only to be replaced by December once the Christmas carols start playing.
The beauty of it is that I don’t have to choose.
I get to have them all.