Over the course of every long, harsh winter I’ve ever experienced(and being one who doesn’t particularly like winter, they have ALL been long and harsh), I forget what spring feels like. I was fortunate enough to get a break of warmth and sunshine when I hit New Orleans last month, but it didn’t feel like spring - it’s forever “warm” (by our standards) down there, so something was missing, like the smell of damp earth or the slight chill in the air. It was more like being transplanted to June than being introduced to an early spring. But I only remember what the experience of spring is like when it starts, and each year it seems I’m amazed that winter is finally over and the world is ready to begin again - to start with the barren landscape covered with transplanted rocks left over from winter and turn it into canvas coloured with various shades of green, yellow and more.

I know that winter will have one (at least) final hurrah, but I’m uplifted by the warmth of the sunshine through my light fleece jacket; by the puddles and rivers created by melting snow; by the hint of blooms that are pushing their way through the earth in my parent’s front yard; and by all the other ways spring has announced its arrival.