Late yesterday afternoon I stepped out on the porch. I bent to tighten my shoe laces. I fired up a nice hand-rolled Cain Daytona and went for a walk. The sun was warm. The temperature was pushing sixty. The sidewalk was wet in places as piled snow melted into puddles and rivulets that gurgled into the storm sewers.
In a weird incongruity, a woman jogged past wearing shorts and a tight shirt next to the pond by the little copse of trees. The pond was still covered with a layer of ice. The lawn care guy was spraying the neighbor's yard even though patches of snow remained in the shady nooks of his yard. The kids on the corner took a break from shooting hoops to chuck snowballs from the big pile of snow the plow left at the end of the cul-de-sac.
Spring fought her perpetual war with winter's icy fist as I meandered through the neighborhood.