Spring is toying with my emotions.
One day the idyllic perfection of a dry and warm day without mosquitoes brings out pasty whiteness and makes us all believe that yes, it’s possible: that warmth and an utter lack of layers are a bona fide part of life.
It’s so good, this warm and lovely day, that we get cocky. We show too much skin and sunburn. We start –gasp!– complaining about the fact that seventy-eight degrees feel a little too warm.
At night, when the kids are asleep and we’re ready to turn in, we indulge in one more sleeveless foray into the perfection that is a good spring day.
And then Tuesday comes to remind us that the week’s just started; that the way to hell is paved with good intentions; that no good deed goes unpunished; and that Humpday is still a day away. And it rains and it blows and the coats and the boots and the scarves ride on for one more day.
But for now, we have that one perfect moment. Savor.