Here Comes the Sun...maybe

As much as I loathe the hot, hot, hot that's inevitable of summers in the South, I do find myself longing, at least, for the warmth of spring. Spring taunted us with a sneak preview of its warmth and wonder recently, and it's left me aching for more.

Weekend before last, the sky morphed in shade to a brilliant blue I can't recall having seen for quite some time. Sun pierced through and, like a drug, it pulled dozens of men and women and boys and girls to the same park at which I sought freedom from the winter blues.

It was perfect. Temperatures warmed the skin as they soared into the 80s, and breezes swept through the trees, as if on cue, just when it started to feel a little too warm.

I spent parts of both Saturday and Sunday afternoons, weekend before last, lazing about at the park. I collapsed onto a park bench and drifted away to the songs on my iPod and then I stretched out on the steep grassy side of a dam, begging the sun to kiss my winter white skin. Then the next day, I spread out a blanket next to the water and read Faulkner. I felt very poetic.

Please spring, do come back.