One moment you’re digging your car out of a deep snow drift, and the next you’re deciding which floppy hat to wear. Seasons change, while most people never do. Spring is a source of passion for much of the clothed public. Unlike New Year’s Day, it is the vernal equinox that represents true rebirth and rejuvenation, without the shackles of a pesky resolution.
Spring is a great time to finely and formally watch the birds. You’ve spent years listening to them sing and screech, never once picking up a pair of binoculars for a closer, more intimate look. Early spring is easy, given the camouflage of leaves have not yet reappeared, obscuring your field of vision and giving the modest ones cover.
Weather temporarily recedes from conversation. In winter, whether unseasonably beautiful or typically frigid, is still worthy of commentary. Spring involves resignation, at least until summer when every extra drop of mercury takes up extra oxygen.
Since the sun sets a little later, dinner gets pushed back into the evening. Baseball returns and people start having spontaneous catches on the street. The common language here is the threat of a round projectile hurtling at your round head.
Spring does a lot right that other seasons can only dream of. Tomorrow we’ll address what it gets wrong and why.
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