The sky is blue and clear, the sun shining. The calendar says it’s spring.
Our clocks already made the great leap forward.
Once again the sun hits my eyes as I head to work. (I’ve never been sure where the savings come in.)
But the grass is still brown, dormant, waiting.
The ground holds patches of ice that used to be snow, dirt captured within.
The wind carries the same sharp bite it’s held for months.
I am tired of jeans and sweaters and sleeves and coats.
Spring should mean t-shirts and sandals and warmth.
I survived my first northern winter in a decade. I’m ready for a weather reward.
Is it spring yet?