March 2nd, 2012.
Bare feet in ballet flats, people stop to listen to buskers.
Short skirts and nylons; hats that don’t cover ears.
Cyclists without gloves weave around convertibles filled with bald heads.
Plastic hockey nets and new tricycles on light gray driveways.
The spritely sound of the woman, whose voice announces the next streetcar stop, is gleeful rather than taunting.
People buy tulips and don’t get them wrapped.
The wind still chills and I still need my mitts after dark, but I am sensing the collective shedding of that symbolic extra layer we carry around in winter.
We are all breathing deeply.
P.S. I apparently wrote about this last year, too… at the END of March.