And then there are the flowers. They start with brave and hardy witch hazel, crocuses and snowdrops poking their heads up through leaf litter or snow, but by April everything is blooming everywhere. The breeze carries the rich scent of hyacinths and, later, lilacs. Light returns! I no longer have to get up in the dark and come home in the dark.
|Light returns! And it can't get here fast enough, if you ask me.|
Consequently, in my stories, I can approach spring in two ways: with romances fit for the season (that’s the type of spring I found as an adult—and it probably won’t come as a surprise that I chose a spring wedding), or featuring that unrequited longing made sharper by contrast with spring’s romantic setting (more like my actual teen years). I think my first book, The Secret Year, had the first kind of spring; my second book, Try Not to Breathe, had the second (although romance blooms at another time).
|These are lupines. They are actually summer flowers, but they are magical, and they are waiting in the wings.|