Write of Spring

Several warm days in a row, but I've been laid low with a belly bug. Somehow, being more comfortable on a bike than sitting down, while not being able to eat much, isn't a sustainable situation.

Yesterday afternoon, I still managed to pull my little red folding bike from the garage and take it off on an adventure to meet a friend. Leaving my jacket at home, I rode out into the intensely warm sunlight of the final winter day, with no leaves to filter it into cooling shade. I pulled a brightly-colored kimono top from my bag of summer clothes in the attic, and it fluttered around me as I rolled along like newly inflated butterfly wings, the volume of the material enhanced by the over-large size. All around me, the human world had come outside into the warm sun, mostly in pale legs and shorts, white arms sticking out from t-shirts, pale bellies beached on lawn chairs like sea lions sunning.

I carried my bike into the dark, damp, subway station, descending through three escalator rides down to the platform. A quick four stops later I emerged into the warm and unfiltered light to meet a friend in town for only this week. We headed to dinner at an Ethiopian place down the street. As we walked into the sun-filled restaurant, we were barreled by the scent of cardamom and coriander, with a hint of cinnamon. I felt like eating for the first time in days.

After dinner and a pint at a local bar, we went our separate ways - me on my bike to meet my son, he off to his hotel to go through his presentation for the next day's conference. As evening approached, the air failed to chill like March would expect it to, and I gently fluttered along jacket-free to my next important rendezvous.