When I returned from Madison on Sunday, I was elated to find Chicago amassed in warmth. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and the air was no longer stingingly cold.
I ran upstairs and opened all my windows to rid my apartment of its stale winter air. Breezes blew through, warm and comforting. I cuddled my cats and took it all in.
Spring is my favorite season. There’s nothing better than those fresh, warm breezes, watching the grass take root again, and seeing green on the trees. It’s really a magical time of year.
But around here, spring is a strange season. Sometimes it takes far too long to arrive, and sometimes it never arrives at all. I can recall many years where winter led directly into summer– cold one day, and blistering hot the next.
Monday and Tuesday remained warm and sunny. My apartment felt refreshed, as did everything in it–including me. The cats enjoyed laying in the windowsills again, watching birds and other creatures from their third-floor perch. I even contemplated taking my bike out from the basement and taking it for a ride. But it was only a thought. After all, I didn’t want to get too ahead of myself. After all, this IS only March. You never know what tomorrow may bring.
No sooner than I thought that exact thought, it all changed. Things started out fine today, but as of now– 9:00 on Wednesday night– the temperature has fallen once again, and I can hear icy rain hitting the windowsill.
Spring, that tricky devil of a season that it is, tempted us with its soft, warm touch. It lured us out of our homes and onto the bike paths and sidewalks. It caused us to roll down our car windows and ride with the wind in our hair once again.
And then it retreated for another siesta– waiting for the day when it will truly come and kick winter’s ass outta here for the next 7-8 months.
Hurry back, Spring. I’ll be waiting for you!