… at the height of spring, and as you know if you read UD with care, her town is an old, well-tended arboretum.
As the cab from the airport drove down Argyle Hill, the driver AND UD, who has had decades to get used to Garrett Park in the spring, both gasped.
It was the whiteness of the dogwoods pouring down the hill to Wells Park that got to UD and the cabbie. Massed, moving with the car and the wind, bright against the afternoon’s dreariness, the trees glittered like ocean foam.
Underneath them, white hosta flowers and white azaleas churned. Above, the ancient town evergreens ruled the waves.
More than enough compensation for my loss of the tropical sun.