It’s the last day of March, 4:30 in the afternoon and finally, I have time to walk the dog. I stand at the coat rack and have to decide: parka or light jacket?
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| The winter coat rack |
The day before, this time in the afternoon, it was 53 degrees and sunny. I didn’t even have to be outside to know it was warm. I was in my office and students come in, smiling, and I swear I can smell the sunshine on them. They look uplifted and though we call it small talk, we really want to comment on what a nice day it is. “Can you believe it?!” we ask. No, no we really can’t.
Not after this winter, not the coldest on record, but the coldest in the memory of any living person. The kind of winter that sucks out your marrow. It mocked us, bullied us, dared us. Schools closed again and again. We gave up feeling brave and bold; even the most hearty among us admitted this was going too far.
So as I ticked the March days off and they slowly, almost imperceptibly, warmed, I began to remember Oh, yes, this is what it’s like to not flinch when I open the door, to breathe and not feel it, to just walk without watching every step. It’s like I’m just here, without concern.
On this last day, the temperatures plummet. Twenty degrees this morning with snow a possibility. Indy sits on the living room floor and cries to go for a walk, so I must. I hesitate, staring at the coats. I grab the jacket. I know it’s not true, but I believe in a religious way, that if I put my winter coat back on, winter will think it can stay forever.
Ohio would hate me.
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