Yesterday was the first full day of spring. Can you feel it? In the Northeast, it was mostly cold and rainy this week, and one could only repeat “In like a lion, out like a lamb” and check the weather apps again.
We’re technically in Spring of Deception, according to a meme that posits 12 actual seasons, based on experience rather than science. (Next up is Third Winter, followed by The Pollening.)
Even so, once the equinox passes, the good weather bias begins. We increasingly expect warmer days, note the early perennials sending up their shoots in flower beds still pocked with snow. We underdress optimistically when the temperature grazes heights not seen since fall.
I’m too eager, a spring-summer dogmatist wishing it Memorial Day so fervently I overlook the grass greening. I miss commuters’ coffee cups transitioning from hot to iced, the gradual unbuttoning and disappearance of coats.
My friend Austin remarked that the seasons are one of the few things left we can’t change on demand — they take as long as they take and there’s no app or hack to speed their progress. He meant this as a good thing.
And he’s right, of course. These early technically spring days, with their absurd cold gusts and flashes of pale sun, are still days. They still contain 24 hours to inhabit, even if I wish I were inhabiting them in shorts.
Anticipation is tricky: It feels exciting to look forward to something, but often that looking forward results in overlooking what’s right here. Right here, just on the other side of the equinox, daylight now exceeds dark in the Northern Hemisphere. Each day, sunset is a little bit later.
“What is all this juice and all this joy?” Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote in his poem “Spring.” Indeed, what is it? What’s with the dampness of sidewalks, the smell of the thawing earth? Are there more birds singing or am I just waking up to them? They’re the tiny increments of spring arriving. The equinox is a planetary demarcation, but real-life spring arrives gradually, a halting, nonlinear progression. Residue of winter, hints of future summer, doubling back before settling into itself, a season getting its footing, finally, eventually, again.
A Good List update
Last week I wrote about The Good List, my new newsletter that offers ways to add some joy to your days. The first installment went out this week, and I’ve loved hearing from readers about how they cultivate delight in their own lives.
Jill Wiggins of Kerrville, Texas, wrote:
I am an 80-year-old widow who lives in the Texas Hill Country. In the past 10 years I have raised a grandchild (who is now on her own), cared for a husband who died of Parkinson’s, moved twice, had two major surgeries, plus of course the pandemic and the Big Texas Freeze of ’21.
When I take the dog for a walk on the beautiful Guadalupe River, I try to find at least five beautiful things. It can be birdsong, a cloud, the river itself, a flower, an egret, or even just my beautiful blue heeler. Once you start noticing, it’s easy to keep going and find way more than five, even on a not-so-pretty day.
- Credits: The New York Times
- Author: Melissa Kirsch
- Image: María Jesús Contreras
