Every year, just as the temperature outdoors dips towards reasonable, and the buds and leaves start to unfurl, I think. No! Wait! I’m not ready.
I resist spring.
You see, the problem is, spring just moves too fast. From the first crocus I spot, to the squirrels rocketing about, to the birds waking me up at 5 AM with songs I never seem to recognize from year to year; it could all move a lot slower. I mean, what’s the rush? Summer stretches, winter is the worst kind of hanger on.
Where’s the fire, Spring?