There are a few things that I’ve come to recognize as telltale signs of spring. These include, but are not limited to: the sun reaching in through my bedroom window at earlier hours, birds and their songs, as well as taking baths in spring rains, green leaves sprouting from the trees, and daffodils. Yellow and white ones that are surrounded by forests of green, tall grasses.

The sleeping bag has been removed from my bed, the snow has melted from the steep Racha hills, and construction has begun. Even in the far reaches of Georgia, I’m still confronted by the industry. I think in Minnesota we were always told the joke that there are two seasons: winter and road construction. I guess that holds true on the other side of the planet, as well. And it’s not really a joke.

With the warmer weather, classes seem to move slowly like the teachers and students do, up and down stairs, in and out of lessons. Is it summer yet? But there’s something comforting about not sleeping in my socks and putting the electric heater away. I’m spending more time outside, in the sunlight, and getting reacquainted with the Georgian culture. I read a book recently called Stories I Stole written by Wendell Steveanson. It helped to renew a sense of wonderment in the Georgian landscape and people–a wide-eyed feeling that I seemed to miss with the end of the honeymoon period of my Peace Corps service.

I have come across a great site of Georgian photographers that has also opened up a box of Caucus beauty. Feeling like everything has a background and everyone has a story to tell, I’m looking forward to lackadaisical summer days, sitting around with people, wine, and letting the television blare in the distance as I listen to the news, whether it be old or new, or retold a thousand times over.

Spring has been rejuvenated, a revenge taken by the youth and the natural world.