“I’d wish it might be spring all the time and in everybody’s heart and all our lives,”

Yep, I'm hopping aboard the "it's spring!" train. 

BECAUSE IT'S SPRING!!!!

And it's beautiful and I love it and aaaaaaah, Spring, where I can wear short sleeves outside and do school outside and be outside and outside outside outside!!!

Ahem.

No case of spring fever here, no siree.

Aaaanyway.  I want to share some beauty with you all, courtesty of L. M. Montgomery. She is a master of descriptions.

1. Anne of Green Gables

Marilla, walking home one late April evening from an Aid meeting, realized that the winter was over and gone with the thrill of delight that spring never fails to bring to the oldest and saddest as well as to the youngest and merriest. Marilla was not given to subjective analysis of her thoughts and feelings. She probably imagined that she was thinking about the Aids and their missionary box and the new carpet for the vestry room, but under these reflections was a harmonious consciousness of red fields smoking into pale-purply mists in the declining sun, of long, sharp-pointed fir shadows falling over the meadow beyond the brook, of still, crimson-budded maples around a mirrorlike wood pool, of a wakening in the world and a stir of hidden pulses under the gray sod. The spring was abroad in the land and Marilla’s sober, middle-aged step was lighter and swifter because of its deep, primal gladness.

See??? Even Marilla did not remain untouched by Spring's magic, so don't blame me. :p

(Also isn't L. M. Montgomery's sense of humour perfection? "She probably imagined that she was thinking about the Aids and their missionary box and the new carpet for the vestry room, but under these reflections was..." Haha. Oh, Marilla.)

2. Rainbow Valley

A light rain had been falling all day—a little, delicate, beautiful spring rain, that somehow seemed to hint and whisper of mayflowers and wakening violets. The harbour and the gulf and the low-lying shore fields had been dim with pearl-gray mists. But now in the evening the rain had ceased and the mists had blown out to sea. Clouds sprinkled the sky over the harbour like little fiery roses. Beyond it the hills were dark against a spendthrift splendour of daffodil and crimson. A great silvery evening star was watching over the bar. A brisk, dancing, new-sprung wind was blowing up from Rainbow Valley, resinous with the odours of fir and damp mosses.

Okay, seriously, if you didn't think that description was amazingly beautiful, I don't know how to help you. 

3. Kilmeny of the Orchard

The sunshine of a day in early spring, honey pale and honey sweet, was showering over the red brick buildings of Queenslea College and the grounds about them, throwing through the bare, budding maples and elms, delicate, evasive etchings of gold and brown on the paths, and coaxing into life the daffodils that were peering greenly and perkily up under the windows of the co-eds’ dressing-room.

A young April wind, as fresh and sweet as if it had been blowing over the fields of memory instead of through dingy streets, was purring in the tree-tops and whipping the loose tendrils of the ivy network which covered the front of the main building. It was a wind that sang of many things, but what it sang to each listener was only what was in that listener’s heart.

I don't even know what to say about this; it's pure poetry.

4. Anne of Green Gables

 Spring had come once more to Green Gables—the beautiful capricious, reluctant Canadian spring, lingering along through April and May in a succession of sweet, fresh, chilly days, with pink sunsets and miracles of resurrection and growth. The maples in Lover’s Lane were red budded and little curly ferns pushed up around the Dryad’s Bubble. Away up in the barrens, behind Mr. Silas Sloane’s place, the Mayflowers blossomed out, pink and white stars of sweetness under their brown leaves. All the school girls and boys had one golden afternoon gathering them, coming home in the clear, echoing twilight with arms and baskets full of flowery spoil.

“I’m so sorry for people who live in lands where there are no Mayflowers,” said Anne.

Aaah isn't it beautiful? You can just see what L. M. Montgomery is describing!!

5. Rilla of Ingleside

Rilla put away her diary and went out to the garden. The spring evening was very lovely. The long, green, seaward-looking glen was filled with dusk, and beyond it were meadows of sunset. The harbour was radiant, purple here, azure there, opal elsewhere. The maple grove was beginning to be misty green. Rilla looked about her with wistful eyes. Who said that spring was the joy of the year? It was the heart-break of the year. And the pale-purply mornings and the daffodil stars and the wind in the old pine were so many separate pangs of the heart-break. Would life ever be free from dread again?

"It's good to see P.E.I. twilight once more," said Walter, joining her. "I didn't really remember that the sea was so blue and the roads so red and the wood nooks so wild and fairy haunted. Yes, the fairies still abide here. I vow I could find scores of them under the violets in Rainbow Valley."

Being Rilla of Ingleside, the description is laced with tragedy. But it is oh, so beautiful.

6. Rilla of Ingleside (again)

When the bitter dawn came she rose and went to her window. Below her was a big apple-tree, a great swelling cone of rosy blossom. Walter had planted it years ago when he was a little boy. Beyond Rainbow Valley there was a cloudy shore of morning with little ripples of sunrise breaking over it. The far, cold beauty of a lingering star shone above it. Why, in this world of springtime loveliness, must hearts break?

Aaah, my heart! 

Now if you don't think L. M. Montgomery has a positive gift with words and descriptions, you are no longer welcome here. Haha. Just kidding. (Kind of) 

I hope you all are enjoying Spring, except for dear Miss Evie (for those of you who are not so fortunate as to have met that lady's acquaintance, I beg you do not think I mean her any ill will, but simply that it is not springtime where she lives :).