Spring, season of all seasons, calls for a certain kind of hyperactivity. When it’s 65F and sunny, you–quick before it changes–get out on a run in shorts. You pull out the mountain bike but agree to meet the snowbanks with a smile, or at least stamina or the reasoning to turn around. You multi-sport it. Bike. Hike. Ski. You take a nap when it rains all day.
You think you might take up birding because of the meadowlark alone. And wildflowers, too. But you also refocus on writing dreams. Life dreams. The days are longer now. There’s time.