A Sense of Spring

It could be coming. It will be coming. Afterall, daylight savings time is coming, so spring has to be coming...at some point. I could smell it today. The air was just ever so slightly fuller, warmer smelling in some way. When he was little, Drew used to say "it smells like baseball" when spring arrived. It doesn't quite smell like baseball yet, but it's coming. I could see it, in the sun that set later than usual, such a welcoming sight, walking home from yoga in the twilight, not darkness. I could feel it, the air was not as frigid as it has been. It was almost balmy, somewhere near the 40s probably. We hardly have spring here in Chicago, we tend to go from winter to summer, with a few days inbetween. Spring to us is melting snow, gloveless hands, open coats and smiles. Brief, but so appreciated. It's on it's way. It could be a month, or longer, but it's out there. With all it's hope and goodness, waiting. This spring, I am so much stronger than last. And the one before that. And the one before that. Through all the gray, damp, and cold winter days, I've grown. Changed. Bent by the winds. But not broken. No. Blossomed. Not broken. Hurry, spring.