Despite all of the chaos in the world, Spring is here….if we extend her an invitation.

Spring is a finicky season.

She is fragile and formal and undecided. She raises her sleepy head from beneath the heavy rain soaked soil several times before awakening fully.

With the changing of the seasons I am changing out my dishes.

Winter, with Christmas and New Years, is for most people, the time of year to dress the table in its most formal attire.

For me, the time to do so is Spring.

Winter is decided by Autumn but Spring emerges at her own pace in her own time.

Spring is a time for white linen table cloths.

For Great Grandmother’s china.

For garden parties and gloves.

Spring is the prelude, the seduction.

Spring is hosiery and legs crossed at the ankles.

Napkins on laps.

Luncheon on the terrace.

Tea sandwiches with the crusts cut off.

Wide brimmed sun hats, clutch purses, bamboo fans.

Spring is julep on the breath, a whisper in the ear, a lowering of the gaze.

Magnolia in bloom. Honeysuckle on the breeze.

Spring is etiquette and poise. She is the breath and the pause before the bare legs and recklessness of summer.

She is the promise of new life and the keeper of old traditions.

Spring is here and she is waiting.

Waiting for the china to pulled out of storage where it has been packed away awaiting a “special occasion.”

Spring is the occasion and she will wait.

Wait for you to set the table.

Wait in the passenger seat for you to take her hand, escort her in. Wait for you to throw open the windows, throw open the doors.

Spring is here and she is waiting to be invited in.