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I’d like to take a break from my regular good-natured posts to complain for a moment. It’s spring here in Portland. And that puts me in a bad mood.

I know, I recently expressed how excited I was for spring. But the other night as I was once again pulling on rainboots to avoid puddles I came to the conclusion that despite cute bunnies, marshmallow Peeps and budding flowers, spring is my least favorite season. In fact, I heartily dislike it sometimes.

Here we are coming out of a long, cold, dark winter, and all we want is some sunshine and warmth. Spring is emaciated and weak, though–it can’t hold up. Flowers peek out, but they’re dashed by rainstorms day in and day out. The sun tentatively filters through, but it’s not enough to give up scarves and coats. Spring is a tease, and not in a titillating kind of way. It’s not inspiring, it’s disheartening. Hope is worthless if it’s pelted by rain every other day, easily crushed like the cautious flowers.

Fall is a million times better. While I yearn for spring to happen with every fiber of my being, fall is a calm resignation to the changes in life. I’m fortified by the warm yellow summer, ready for the crisp breezes to come, ready to slowly pull on my coat. My belly is full of ripe tomatoes and summer berries, and I’m content to transition to autumn apples, pears, and pumpkins. If fall makes me wait for an appearance, that’s fine. I’ll enjoy summer a bit longer.

Spring is an aching, writhing need. I’m sick of the dark winter, the cold days, the muffling scarves. I’m tired of leek and potato soup, canned tomatoes, and the meagar “seasonal” offerings. The delicate beauty of the flowers isn’t enough: daffodils and cherry blossoms are a small consolation for the cold wet days. Give me some sun, damn it!

You Floridians, Californians, Texans and even my native Coloradans won’t understand. You all get sunshine aplenty, even in the cold days. I will doggedly extol the virtues of Portland every chance I get, but I have to admit… this is the worst time of year to live here. Spring may have sprung, but any hope for sunshine is a good two more months away. Hope wears thin sometimes, like the winter coat I’m sick of pulling on.

I hate spring.