More regular than a river otter...

I can count on the Wysteria to welcome spring to the South.

I've needed to make this post for a few days, as I've been appreciating the incredible sight of the lavender and white waterfall-like bursts of blossoms pouring out of the host trees and plants that this parasitic vine slowly strangles. I love this time of year.

The rest of the year I curse the rough and hard to eradicate plant, but when it blooms I can't help but smile as I admire it bringing color to mansion and mobile home properties alike as I pass by with the window down on the car. The Wysteria's blooming time is a signal to roll down the windows, eschew the air conditioning (not that my Jeep's is working at the moment), and drive with an arm bent and resting on the sill, collecting a fair bit of welcome turbulence that directs a warm breeze into the passenger compartment.

These blooms will soon die and fall off the vine, and before too long I'll need to turn the A/C on, if I get it fixed, and go back to the sealed cocoon of my vehicle. The Southern heat will pass through the 90°F mark, and the humidity will be right behind it, making anything less than highway speeds unbearable while driving without the artificial cooling coming from the dashboard vents. It takes a special type of masochist to drive a convertible with the top down on a hot July afternoon in the South. Between the slow as molasses tourists around town blocking traffic and making breezy speeds attainable, to the bright sun that almost seems to be magnified by the heavy moisture hanging in the air like an invisible shower curtain just holding the sweat against one's skin and preventing even the faintest cooling evaporative sensation of cooling. It's brutal. At least my Jeep's got a roof the size of a circus tent, and power windows all around, so even if I don't get the A/C repaired before this sweltering season comes, I'll at least be able to trick my senses into believing that it's cooler in the shade.

Sure, I could be writing about the incredible cherry blossoms that burst forth this last week, stopping me in my tracks right outside the back door of my workplace, and making me stand there like a fool admiring them when I got home and stepped out of my truck to view my neighbor's tree in full bloom, leaving me pained that my own cherry tree died this last summer, but that would just be derivative of so many other homages to the cherry. Those stupid trees are a dime a dozen around here, though no one seems to have one that bears any fruit.