As I drive to the Museum of Nature and Science, trees that were once bare and brown are newly green, and not just green but blush, fuchsia, and ivory. When I leave the museum, leafing, flowering trees fill the landscape, letting off the powdery sweet smell of spring flowers. Every winter I forget what the city looks like in full leaf—and every year spring foliage comes as a surprise. Crab apple trees, hawthorns, and redbuds, cherry blossom and ornamental pear trees. And the same elfin spirit that tells them it’s time to bud—or maybe because of the trees, and the bulbs, sunshine, and chirping birds—gets under my skin, and makes me want to bud, too.

Pink Petals, Spring Snow

I'm leaving the doctor's office—a routine appointment. As I walk down the sidewalk avoiding the slush, I hear the drone of cars passing behind me. Spring had come early, the cherry blossoms blooming in March. But winter hadn't left yet either. The heavy snow that fell the day before shrouded city streets, newly green lawns, burgeoning tulips and lilies, and trees in blossom. As I pass under a young tree, I look down and see its pink petals—which the heavy, wet snow had pulled loose—mixed with snow and landscaping rocks. The sun is already shining again, and I smile at the impermanence and incongruity.

Duck on Water

On one of the first truly warm days of spring, I took my infant son for a walk around the neighborhood lake. We passed what I thought was a flock of common ducks. But on another look, my eye was drawn to the ducks' fanned hoods, black-and-white markings, and chestnut flanks. I approached them for a closer look, smelling the muddy ripeness of the water's edge. Soon the pair of Hooded Merganser and other ducks joined a flock of geese onshore, where we watched them until they waddled back into the water and swam away.

Chihuly in Wonderland

At the Dale Chihuly exhibition at the Denver Botanic Gardens, I walked from the Perennial Walk to the Monet Pool to the Japanese, Montane, Licac, and Rose gardens. In each, blown glass sculptures intermingled with the landscaping. Vermilion prongs rose up from a bed of basket-of-gold and lilies. Mauve prongs rose out of a lake. Spidery, succulent-like glass of every color grew out of water or among ferns or sage bushes. Royal blue spheres floated down a river and ones of bright yellow, orange, and blue piled into an abandoned boat. A Willy-Wonka, Alice-in-Wonderland fantasy world of nature and art.

Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception

With Lent coming up, I've been thinking about habits I rely on too much or ones that aren't useful to me anymore. What would it be like to give them up for forty days? People have used this time to try to make positive changes in their lives, do something that's hard for them, care more, give more, or pray more. I read a post on someone's Facebook page about turning problems into opportunities, and that resonated with me. I lean too much on the idea that I'm stuck in one situation or another, so during Lent, I want to rethink that idea. How am I not stuck? How could I get unstuck? How can I get excited about my life, not just for something that may happen in the future, but for something that's happening right now?

Stained-Glass Window

I walked into the Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception and sat down, and as I waited for the ceremony to start, I looked around the church. The walls are so high and bright, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The church's stunning white walls, high ceilings, and impossibly tall stained-glass windows point upward toward the sky, while the colors and light of the windowpanes draw the eye. Humans made this building and its art, but the design reminds us of more than our humanity—more that exists somewhere else, but also here on earth.

Highlands Street Fair, Denver

You stroll down the main passageway of a street fair flanked with stalls. The sun is blazing, and your skin is sticky with sweat. At the far end a band plays, and the music joins together with the shouts, laughter, and conversations of festival goers. You catch the scent of turkey legs, sugary cakes, and beer. In the stalls, you see straw hats; mannequins in bright shirts; plaster arms draped in silver bracelets; and, in one, jewel-toned wind spinners hanging at various heights. On this hot summer day, they barely move. But they cause you to stop: to take in the various shapes, the rings within rings, the translucent wall of color.

Washington Park, Denver

Colorful surreys line up expectantly, like playful soldiers in an Alice-in-Wonderland world. Even in the middle of the city, sometimes a vacation is only fifteen minutes away. Whether you're on a bike or a boat, with the wind in your hair and the sun hot on your head, you can find stillness in movement as you smell the wet sand, the freshly cut grass, and the fecund plants, with the lively cries of children in the background.