Springtime came this March and brought the season of lover’s with it.
There’s nothing quite like downtown Savannah in the early spring, when the bright pink azaleas burst to life beneath the shady, moss-draped branches of Live Oaks. And to live in a townhouse facing one of Savannah’s most prestigious squares, well, that’s about as close to a Heavenly neighborhood as one can hope to get.
We’ve lost count now of the number of times we’ve ambled to our front windows on a quiet and lazy Saturday morning to see a flurry of activity on the bright green lawn outside. Rows of white chairs and baskets of flowers. A violinist practices her tune as a fellow musician finagles a harp into position on the not-quite level ground.
By the time we’ve poured our second cup of coffee and settled into the cushioned wrought-iron chairs on our front porch, the bride and her ladies will have shown up, looking all like flower petals twirling and floating into position for pictures and poses and procession.
There’s nothing quite like witnessing the eternal union of strangers in the front yard. It’s a sweet happening.
A very Savannah sort of thing.