Spring Comes Twice

When I got to Davis on Sunday, the leaves were furled, grey buds on the grey branches that hold themselves like stiff twisty snakes high above the roads. Under my watchful eye these last four days the buds have come into their own, and the town is ten different kinds of green. The air reeks of it, sharp grass by mid-morning, rounded to yellowish in the sun-drenched afternoons, and after the sun falls: purpley grey green, the colour of dusty succulents.

I've been trying to horrify the native Californians with tales of winter, which is truthfully not very hard when you're with people who think the freezing point is, well, freezing. One of them – Trish, maybe? - asked when it would be spring in Ottawa.

Right now it seems like forever away, though it's a rare treat to be able to watch the leaves twice in one season.

It's my last day in California. We're sitting inside at the Delta of Venus, the Davis version of the Wild Oat, minus the buttery scones. The bearded djs have set up, but I think we might head off before they start, and take Lenny the German Shepherd to the dog park.

Before we got here, CT took me on a bike ride around campus – it's pretty and spread out, built mostly in the 60s; the buildings are squat with sharp corners. The grounds are lush, palms and pines and flowers everywhere. Blooming trees. Full of squirrels and ducks and kids rushing madly around during finals week. And bikes. Lots and lots of bikes.

Making plans to leave is melancholy. We just spent a few minutes hashing out what the rest of the day is going to look like. I need to be packed before tomorrow, since we need to be out of the house at 8 and I haven't seen the early side of that hour in a long time. We finished the conversation with long faces.

But I'm excited, too. I'm a homebody at heart, even if my home is still mostly frozen.

Homesick, I'm homesick. I miss my cat, my house, Team Some Street. I don't miss the ice, but I do look forward to watching it crack open in the next few weeks, as I wait for the leaves to fold out.