A neighbor fired up a lawn mower today. It sounded as if he were mowing rocks. I admire his hustle or his epic procrastination.
Usually these false spring days — sunny and high temperature in the 60s — are filled up with acts of joy still scheduled for weeks or months hibernation. Motorcyclist cramming in a ride. Dogs barking on their first walk in months. That one kid with the electric pink car with the hard plastic wheels going up and down the sidewalk.
My bit of warm weather fun? Writing with the window open.
There is less sound in winter, just as there is less light. You can hear springtime approaching. It’s birdsong, the croaks of knuckleheads and hellos shouted from porches.
All of it together reminds me of Twitter. The noise makes as about as much sense, but I’m still addicted to the feed. Refresh, refresh, refresh.
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