None of it looked good. That’s the secret about that first big horny spring day: It isn’t beautiful. Spring’s guts were out, parts spread haphazard around the driveway. Bare branches and cold ground left over from winter showed uglier with flowers trying to make inroads against them, and the paltry patches of green on the lawns only emphasized the dull muddy browns. The myths and the stories tell us that spring turns beautiful all at once, but that’s not really how it works. First, we have to lie to ourselves about it. To believe in resurrection, we have to talk ourselves into it.
Helena Fitzgerald, Griefbacon
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