Seasonal Denial

I have long held the conviction-unsupported by the calendar and cold facts of Indiana winters- that the beginning of March really means the beginning of Spring. In Bethany-land, Summer runs from May to September, September through November constitute Fall, and Winter begins with December and ends with February. March means Spring. Spring means sunshine and rain, gradual warming, and growing things. Grey and mud-brown relieved at last by green and palest pink. Bunnies and birdies. (And bugs, but nevermind them.)

Thus, I woke this morning with high expectations. I purposely left my decidedly Winter Red gloves at home and bore the chill of a frozen steering wheel all the way to work, secure in the knowledge that, whatever my senses chose to tell me, THIS IS SPRING. I considered leaving off my cardigan while working, as if to defy the chill coming off my office window with its overcast view. My lunch break was spent in indecision regarding what sort of Easter hat I want this year (Pillbox? Wide brim? How retro do we go?) and whether I want those Miss Sixty sandals in pink or blue. (Pink.)

At long last, sometime after noon, the sun worked its way through the clouds and, as I enjoyed the warm light, I knew. The air is still cold and there snow drifts haven't yet melted, but Spring-complete with sunshine and rain showers and Easter and baseball and sandal shopping- is coming.