Spring has come

My youngest sister, Claire, used to love to "roughhouse" with me. Sometimes, she'd try and biff me in the face, so I'd sit on her. Then she would laugh and laugh, her little stomach quivering with delight. "L-l-laura," she would say.

"Yes, Claire," I'd say, examining my fingernails.

"There's a dinosaur over THERE --" trying to distract me. "I think he's going to eat us."

"Aah -- I don't think so," I would say, not turning my head. "The dinosaurs died out some time ago."


After a time, she'd try again. "Laura," she'd say. "Do you want to go eat ice cream? Girls only outing!"

"Aah -- not in the mood," I'd reply. Then she'd howl with frustration, and struggle to get up. I wouldn't let her.

I remember one time watching her flailing limbs with particular amusement. Suddenly, her eyes lit up, fixated on something hovering over my head. Slowly, she extended her arm. Then her hand. Last her forefinger, which trembled with emotion and conviction. "Laura, oh, Laura -- spring has come!"

Had it really? I turned to face the window. It had been such a long, cold winter. My eyes searched for snow melting, dripping off branches. My ears longed to hear bird's sweet songs. But no. Instead, I saw flurries of white, heard howling wind.

And BAM. Claire wholloped me in the back of the head. I looked from the ground, where I lay. She was hopping up and down impishly, circling me in a victory dance. "Ha ha ha! Gotcha."

She's a good little actress.

Winter wears on me more than I think it does, and I long for spring without knowing it. Lately, it's been getting too hot in my room at night -- I wake up with a parched mouth, hoping that winter's over for good. Last night, with great celebration and ceremony, I opened my windows wide and pulled the wool blankets off my bed.

This morning, I awoke to birds' songs. I rubbed my eyes, and sat up. The sky, tinged with pink, spread itself before me. A breeze waltzed into my room, touched my face, and then left. Outside, below my window, I heard the gravelly voices of construction workers as they joked and jostled.

I suspect -- I hope -- that spring has come. As I say this, I'm looking around nervously, afraid to look out the window, afraid that a winter storm will creep up behind me and clout me in the back of the head.