Spring Thoughts

Our friends tell us that in Vermont, the Forsythia is bursting out. That means that soon the ground won't be muddy, and birds will come back. Ulli, our cat, will be in cat heaven - those snowy moles all winter are not nearly as much fun as songbirds on the wing.

In Taiwan, Spring means rice fields and trees with heavily scented blossoms. There are Mongolian winds sweeping dust across the land, and rains nearly every afternoon. The mountains, so close, are frequently covered in clouds while the valley here by the sea is bright and hot. The days sweep between cool and blazing. I suppose blazing isn't fair, as there is still summer to come, but in contrast with the cool, it's pretty brilliantly hot. It's the color of the sun that is so sharp - The kind of sunlight that makes a knife-like shadow.

Every day I bike along and think of things to say - about the pet pig who eats up the leftovers from dinner the night before. One morning we saw her refusing the spaghetti looking mess. The next day she had it again. She was eating it. Poor pig. She's a well-fed black-and-pink pig. Her owner is in a wheel-chair, and he sits outside their home on the road, with a 2 year old between his knees, and every morning smiles widely at us and wishes us a good morning. McKinley is fun to watch, zooming by on her bicycle in her uniform.

It's mostly the wind in the rice that I want to share. But I'm not sure how - the smell is both grassy and nutty. The green is sublime. The way the colors shift and shade as the wind blows waves in the fields -- Oh it is so lovely. We are really feeling at home here, and the poignancy of having only 2 1/2 months left is nearly too much to bear.