I despaired leaving Chicago – the people, the energy, the sunrise drive from Evanston along Lakeshore Drive into the city of skyscrapers – and moving to Atlanta. It was the summer of 2010, and Robbie and I loaded up our dreams and hopes into two moving vans and drove over thirteen hours into increasing heat and humidity to start over in a place I never wanted to visit. Now, I don’t ever want to leave.
Let’s talk weather. Afterall, Chicago’s weather, cruel or sweet, dictated the schedule and mood of myself and many I knew on a daily basis. Perhaps you have heard of those mid-West winters or have experienced one yourself. In any case, it was Atlanta’s fall of 2010, and I had never enjoyed such a forecast of perfect temperatures, endless soft sunny skies, and a forest of reds, yellows, oranges, greens, and browns. For months it lasted. And for me, whose mental well-being is tied intimately to the weather, Atlanta became a place of optimism, hope, and happiness.
So when Spring rolled around this year, and we remained in Atlanta for Easter, I had to take advantage of the beauty surrounding us. Rose bushes with two different-colored blossoms, camelias of bright, blood-red, azaleas the size of trees, and countless other yellow, white, purple, and pink blooms everywhere you turn. Enough to make one’s spirit soar with the birds chirping their thrill at being alive.