On Signs of a False Spring

Today, it felt like spring.

No, it wasn’t as warm as springtime often is.

No, there were still mounds of snow in parking lots and a glaze of ice on the sidewalks.

No, the sun was still far too low in the sky, and the clouds shifted awkwardly throughout the day.

And yet!

After weeks of sub-twenty degree temperatures, a day in which the sun broke through the clouds, in which blue sky could be seen, in which white, wispy clouds floated lazily in the high, thin air, in which the thermometer flirted with near-fifty degrees, one could be forgiven for wanting to see trees budding and flowers breaking through the dirt or the smells of springtime in the air.

I expected mulch, to be honest.

I know, it’s mid-January. We’ll have another cold snap (or three), more snow and ice, before all is said and done. It’s still winter.

But, for a few hours today, it really seemed like spring.

And I welcomed it.

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