A Sure Sign of Spring

The wind is blowing today, and it’s cold. Cold enough to wear a hat, wear mittens, drink hot chocolate. The problem is–it’s Spring, dammit. I know it’s Spring, because the Red Sox are playing.

I think this is a better sign of the season than something like…daffodils.

For one thing, my neighbor across the street has a bedful of them, quivering yellow in the weak April sun that shines on them all day. My daffs, on the other hand, still haven’t poked more than an inch of leaves out of their shadowy spot near my front steps. I know that there’s not more Spring on the other side of the street, just more sun; either way, the flowers are no indication of the season. And up in Maine, where my friend lives, there’s still snow on the ground. There’s nothing Spring-like about snow.

Nope.

But the Sox are playing. They play across the street, they play at my house, they even play in Maine. In fact, they played in Japan a week ago. Whereever you hear or see the game–that’s a sure sign of Spring. Even better, it’s a reminder of Summer days ahead…long, hot summer days. Imagine this: The lazy sound of Joe Castiglione, the sound of the neighbor’s lawn mower and the smell of freshly cut grass…the scent of burgers on the grill. Outside, the air is still, humid. There’s the sound of someone’s air conditioner…birds singing…cicadas whirring, maybe. Kids playing. “That’s a hit and…it’s outta here! A homerun by Manny!”

I can almost taste the tangy lemonade in the sweaty glass, feel the sun on my neck as I rock in the swing on my back deck…it’s Summer.

Or it will be, as soon as we can get through this cold and windy Spring. As long as the Sox are playing, there’s hope!