Repeat

The night is mild, soft, breezy. Long row of cars line Morton Street as we sit with our Friday Night Cocktails and watch the slew of dog walkers passing by. Neighbors from upstairs and down pass us on the stoop, carefully treading between clinking glasses and plates of salume while remarking how warm the night, how lovely spring. Reluctant to return upstairs to the real world, we order pizza and dumplings for the steps, giggling about how to direct the delivery boy.

All day is spent staring into the sun. Running around playgrounds with kisses and giggles, carrying piles of clothes unworn. I take the long way home and call a world of people to gloat about spreading crocus and suddenly flushed cheeks. My phone beeps with messages of babies on the verge of being born, and I can't imagine a better day for it. Welcome, this is the only Life you know, isn't it perfect? The dogs skip down the street and tell me the times are a-changing.

It's like turning a light switch. Every year, it's the same procedure. Every year, the same amazement and surprise. The familiarity of the feeling, the delighted giggles as though it were the first time. Spring grabs me by the heartstrings, and I fall helplessly and happily into the whirlwind of rainbows and sparkles.

Spring is here. I am tickled pink.