We’re only a day or two this side of March
, and the temperature in this cold Great Lake state was pushing the Big 6-0. The sun was bright, the sky blue, the clouds scattered–postcard perfect. I walked a couple miles in Riverside Park and no matter where I was along the trail, at least ten people were both ahead and behind me. (And nearly as many dogs!) Frisbees. Bikes. Strollers. The wind blustered and whipped around, but no one seemed to care. I stepped in puddles because they were … puddles (!), not banks of snow.
And it was one of those days that gave me a case of the pretty soons.
Pretty soon I’ll ditch my down coat and mittens–I’ll shiver my way to work at 6:30 a.m. without a coat (maybe a sweater if I’m feeling cautious) and sashay out the door at 3:30 as comfy as can be. Pretty soon it will be grilled ‘burgs on Sunday afternoon instead of pot roast. Pretty soon we’ll hear the Orioles calling “We’re home, we’re home!”, always a few days before we actually see them dipping into the grape jelly at the feeder. Pretty soon the weekend soundtrack will be the voices of Jim Price and Dan Dickerson calling the Tigers game. Pretty soon we’ll grumble about cutting the grass.
We still have a few snow storms to weather, I’m sure. Ice-cold mornings mean I’ll keep sweaters and wool socks in rotation. I won’t put the Ice Melt away just yet. But the geese were flying low along the riverbank looking for a place to nest, I spied two robins in the park, and the sun still shines after dinner.
Pretty soon now, pretty soon.
This is my symphony 