When I went to college, I lived in an off-campus apartment that looked like this:
|Americana Apartments, East Lansing, Michigan|
Nothing says home like a little Soviet-style architecture, does it.
The years have flown by, and now one of my daughters is living off-campus at her own college and her home-away-from-home looks like this:
This house is a fairy tale, isn't it? I find it charming and quaint and magical. I want to walk up those steps, sit right down on the stoop, and drink a tall, cool glass of lemonade. I want to peep into that black metal mailbox and pull out an envelope with a long, handwritten letter inside. I want to open that big wooden front door (I hope it creaks), tiptoe into the kitchen, and whip up a homemade banana cream pie for the lucky girls who live here.
But the other day when I stopped by the Manor, which is what the girls call their fairy-tale home, I didn't get nearly that far. I never even reached the steps. For right now, in this glorious Seattle spring, the Manor's front garden has come alive with bloom.
I parked my car and then I took a beeline from the street to the flowers, yanking my phone out of my pocket as I strode across the grass, and started snapping pics left and right. Let me show you just a few of the photos I took.
I wonder if anyone driving by the Manor last Friday afternoon saw me bending, twisting and contorting myself to get the best angle on these beauties.
I wonder if I will always have an undying passion for pink flowers.
I wonder if the Manor girls, with their heads full of thoughts about classwork and deadlines and grades and boys, pause as they run up their front steps to notice these precious flowers.
I wonder if, in the many springtimes still to come in their lives, the girls will see fresh pink spring flowers and fondly recall their magical year at the Manor.
I wonder if the answer to all these questions is 'yes.' I hope so.
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For more stories about late winter and early spring, try these: