Tell me you don't start singing that song by The Zombies.
Strike that. I just showed my age.
Tell me you don't like the sentiment, whether you know the song or not, then.
You can't. If you were in Seattle this weekend, you know what I mean. After months of grey sky and spittle rain and not-cold-not-hot temperatures, your heart quickened for a bit, before the weather turned its back on you today.
Oh, but for just a bit...
You opened the sunroof during errands, didn't you? You considered sandals, before you remembered that it wasn't quite pedicure season yet. You dug in the earth or walked the dog a block further or got an ice cream.
Me, I went on an impromptu photo safari with my friend, M. We were playing with our iPhone cameras and we strolled through the community garden and smelled fragrant things and saw green buds swelling, not in the merry month of May, but March. March!
And it's OK now that the chill has returned.
Because the door to spring opened ever so fleetingly, and I craned my neck and saw it.
And felt it.
It was right there on this tree, when I put my hand out and caressed the bark where the sun was shining on it.
Warm. Warm under my hand.
It's the time.