Crocci (the plural of crocus, in my mind, and now yours) have popped up amidst the last of the grungy snow and the discarded candy wrappers on the tiny front lawns in my neighbourhood.
My commute home from work has turned into a dawdle, instead of the ferociously determined press against the harsh wind.
Dogs are no longer trotting, but galloping around the intensely muddy parks.
My aqua-marine Kicks are shockingly bright against the still salt-stained sidewalks and “Let’s go for a walk” has replaced “Let’s go grab a pint.”
I’m already excited for it to be replaced by “Let’s go for a swim!”
Am I ever really in the current season?