Sunshine is good for my soul. Turns out, Washington is home to the US National Arboretum which is essentially a zoo for trees. An entire property fenced in with walking paths for the visitors, all different species of trees and plants to peruse, and even handy signs sporadically stuck into the dirt explaining native habitats and growth patterns. And on clear days, bookoos of sunshine bouncing off the leaves and turning the pavement a silvery gray, I can't say with enough enthusiasm how much I love times like that. I have a new German friend who laughs at me (well, apparently all Germans laugh at Americans for this) for saying I 'love' things. They're amused that we use such strong language to express a lot of like for one thing or another.
"You're always saying 'I love this' or 'I love that.' We just say 'Oh, it's ok.' Even if we like it a lot."
So do they say the same of their spouses? "Oh, he's ok." Perhaps that's the point, that the word love should be reserved for relationships. I go off on this tangent to properly express my relationship for the outdoors and that big ball of glowy awesomeness that anchors the universe. I LOVE it. It's more than just ok. Except for those times that it burns me so badly that my skin turns reddish purple, and then I have to sit down and tell it that it's not working out and we need a break. But in the spring and fall, when the weather is eight different kinds of perfect and the sun just the right amount of warm, we work things out in record speed and I'm in love again.
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