Spring!

I wanted to write this: Hey, Mr. Angry Truck Driver Man driving too fast up DeSoto Street. You drive too fast on such a busy street where you could hit students. You shouldn't honk your horn like that outside a hospital where people are recovering. You sure as heck shouldn't roll down your window and scream profanities at me and tell me, "Get off the road! Get on the sidewalk, asshole!" You know why you shouldn't do those last two things? Because you are incorrect. The word sidewalk has walk in it because it's for walking. Roads are for tax payers! Even tax payers who ride bikes!

But instead of writing that, I'll write that today the trees outside my work are aflame with pink and red blossoms. The air is warm and Frank across the street is pruning his rose vines. He is cradling his flower bulbs while Anthony and Briana race up the street on their bikes and scooters. The neighbors are walking their baby around. I have back sweat and the windows in my house are open. My heater isn't running, so I'm not paying $7.20 per day to heat my house to the warm, warm temperature of 62 degrees.

I'm sitting on my porch with frozen blueberries and my feet up on the rail while the paper boy walks and hurls the Trib into my daffodils, which I didn't know I had until they popped out of the ground by themselves this week. Spring is here!

My feet won't freeze at rugby and I can hose myself off in the driveway without freezing tonight. I might need sunscreen at my game on Saturday! I feel good.