A few weekends ago, Ryan and I took the pups with us to Green Bay, where both sets of parents reside. Sometimes it's strange to think we went to high school only twenty minutes apart, that we actually worked at the same inbound telemarketing place as teenagers, that he believes he can even remember me from breaks, when so many of the three-story winged building crowded out in the summer sun.
These photographs, however, do not celebrate the summer sun: instead, it is to show you Wisconsin in May, a little snowstorm we drove through. It was brief and melted by the next day; Ryan thought it was beautiful and I mourned the cold wet covering the brilliant green I'd felt so desperate for for so long.
Snow in May should feel strange, but I suppose it doesn't. Now, it's hot and humid and last night, while making dinner, Ryan and I with our separate sauces for the pasta (mine: alfredo with fresh mushrooms, shrimp, and a hot sauce/salsa; his: tomato and ground beef), the world light up, thunder and lightning, which is my undeniable favorite sort of weather. I yearn for more, even as the sun shines so fiercely outside.
My absolute favorite is this last one.
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