Another sunny day, I squint into the sun the entire way to work and smile. But March is treacherous, and the air is so cold I no longer feel my fingers. Spring is waiting in the margin, I know it.
The parks have been cleaned up, and along the earth I see them, tiny, tiny green sprouts seeming effortlessly to rise to the surface, stretch in the afternoon sun. The trees seem to lose their sharpness, and it takes me a while to realize that it is because little knobs are growing on them, preparing for the moment when they may burst forth and paint the world in a new light. Birds return to the concrete, looking for crumbs and gossipping with the neighbors.
My steps are longer in the mornings now, my back straighter. I still pace within these four walls and cannot muster up the energy for any actual living, but I know it is within reach. I know that soon enough, my eyes will open properly for the first time in months. I know my smile will be truer, my heart lighter. It is coming. It is coming.
Can you feel it?
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