Spring springs eternal, but not for some people.

It's that time of year again -- spring has returned to southern Louisiana (it came a bit early this year). The Live Oak trees are dropping carpets of pollen, and the baby's breath, ligustrums, jasmine, and azaleas are blooming everywhere. Everywhere, that is, except in the front yard of Grandma's old house, where the azalea bushes and other plants that stood there since the 1960's (I have photos to prove it) have been ripped up. I live near Grandma's old house, so I get to see a huge part of my childhood being remodeled beyond recognition on a daily basis. It was depressing before Grandma died, but since then, it's been especially hard.

The other day, I was riding my bike past her old house and "Copperline," by James Taylor, came on my iPod. (I got hear Taylor sing it live when I saw him in concert last year.) In the song, the singer waxes nostalgic about his favorite childhood haunt, Copperline, but he isn't bitter when he revisits it as an adult to find it's been "torn up good." These are the last lyrics, but with Copperline replaced by Seventh Street, where my Grandma used to live.

Day breaks and the boy wakes up
The dogs bark and the birds sing
The sap rises and the angels sigh



I tried to go back, as if I could
All spec house and plywood
Torn up and torn up good, down on Seventh Street



It doesn't come as a surprise to me
It doesn't change my memories
Now I'm lifting up and rising free, down over Seventh Street