there was cold, clear water in a tall, clean glass
the sunlight hit the sides and it came through the water tilted
i saw the condensation on your hand
i could feel the glaciers melting
--"Song for an Old Friend"
Spring is almost here.
It's still only in the 40s here, but I've lived in this part of the country long enough to recognize the signs.
It starts the morning I step outside for the newspaper and the cold doesn't take my breath away. Instead, the air feels almost...soft.
It starts the day I leave work in the evening and the sun is still shining.
It starts when we start talking about flowers, gardening, and sitting on the porch. After six months of cold, dark, and ice, even talking about this is an act of hope.
It started this year when I was walking to the train and was stopped in my tracks by beams of sunlight filtering through buildings at Wabash and Hubbard. It went well with the Mountain Goats song I was listening to, which is all about light (and oranges and lemons). I wished I had a camera.
Something has started again. Something has let go. Even though we're still several months away from bare feet, the winter's grip on us is over.