Yesterday was the first official day of spring. I remembered this suddenly as I trudged into work wearing my winter coat, the same coat I had just banished to the darkest corner of my closet only two days ago. As stinging little pellets of frozen rain hit my face, I summoned up a mental image of warmer days, of summer nights on my backyard patio, of flickering tiki torches and beads of moisture on the outside of my icy glass of sangria.
I imagined the sun tea brewing on the ledge of the porch, the sultry midday heat, the electric green of the foliage and the buzzing of cicadas. Conjuring up these images, I could almost feel the warmth seeping into my chilled body by the sheer power of my wishful thinking. As the sleet flattened my freshly washed hair into a damp, matted mess, I tucked my chapped hands into my coat pockets and concentrated on the path before me. Almost there, I told myself, shivering miserably. In more ways than one. Almost there.