Slow steps.
There is no need to be in a rush when the sun is still shining at 6:20pm and for the first time in ages it is warm.
Warm.
Warm enough to toss my cardigan into my purse.
Warm enough to sweep my hair up in a clip.
Warm enough to take slow steps through the neighborhood streets with my head up instead of buried inside a scarf. Warm enough to look around.
The neighborhood is buzzing with the sounds of children who have been released into front yards after being cooped up all winter. Their squeals and laughter are like a parade to welcome April. And as I come around the corner, I run into the Grand Marshall.
Swinging in a tire swing, from a pear tree in full bloom, is a little boy in his underwear, rain boots, and a kitchen apron tied around his neck for a cape. He’s holding a stick and swinging back and forth and just screaming in delight.
The unabashed joy of a sunny day he simply can not contain.
