Is it too soon? Who cares?

Today I gave up my toque and my gloves and my scarf when I took Murphy out. It was only about 5 degrees Celcius. Water is its most dense at 4 degrees. I think this is fascinating. That’s why ice floats – it is less dense than water. I didn’t even zip up my jacket.

The sun was shining. And yes, I swear by it, there were birds chirping. There was less snow and more ground than I’ve seen in months. Trees basked in a light yellower than I’ve seen since November. The snowbanks, the snow cover, rolled back, retreated, shriveled. Where there was ice last night were only smaller puddles now. A lot of smaller puddles which Murph couldn’t even try to avoid, but I didn’t care. I’ll take it.

By the side of the road, where the sewers are, was the lovely spring sound of perpetual pissing. The sewers were chewing up what was left of winter’s visit. “Take it, take it,” I said to the sewers doing their removing work.

Left over, uncovered, broken beer bottles, litter, cigarette butts, dog crap blanched by freezing and thawing and freezing and thawing again, and salt stains. But I don’t care. It’s a welcome to see it. The sun was on my head and my hands. The wind buffeted freely my neck and my chest. I was not cold.

It’s here. It’s almost here, anyway. As when you get up from a long sitting where your bones might complain and creak, but you’re moving, or you’re about to move; and it, the expectation of it, anyway, is joyous.

SS