Spring is here.  I can feel it.  The park is lush and green and filled with flowers.  The scent of orange blossom drifts in the air. The sun feels warm and the sky is still blue blue, not the smog tinged blue gray of summer heat.  I love Los Angeles in the spring when the stiff branches of trees fluff out into blossoms the color of prom corsages and the earth is plump and damp from rain.  Grass grows overnight, spreading a dense emerald carpet over hills that will, too soon, turn crackly and brown in the summer sun.  Too soon there will be fire danger and baked hard clay beneath my feet.  But for now, the moist air adds an ever so slight curl to my fine, straight hair and bright orange poppies spruce up even the most bedraggled median.  Spring in the air.  Spring in my step.