Spring is Sprung

Whatever your thoughts on global warming (and mine are many and various -- well, various forms of paralyzing dread is more accurate) you have to admit that an unseasonably warm March in Upstate New York is a wondrous thing. In recent years, many have been the poet and musician who've reflected on the more poetic, literary implications of Global Warming. Easily the most laudable and accredited of these is indie-rocker Ben Gibbard. In a song for Postal Service called "Sleeping In," he sings,

Again last night I had that strange dream
Where everything was exactly how it seemed
Where concerns about the world getting warmer
The people thought they were just being rewarded
For treating others as they'd like to be treated
For obeying stop signs and curing diseases
For mailing letters with the address of the sender
Now we can swim any day in November

Trust me, Ben, the environmentalists don't share your "glass half full" approach to Global Warming. But I do. On a day like today, I can actually believe that Spring is here to stay. Growing up in New York I've learned to treat Spring like an abusive lover. When these early days of "spring" arrive I've been taught to put a hand on my hip and say, "Don't play games with me, papo, or I swear I will put you out on your ass. I'll do it." Yeah, spring is an unfaithful latino lover up here.

The thing I noticed today was people. Everyone was a metaphor for stretching. Arms uncurling, toes wiggling, necks bending to the sunshine-- people discovering their bodies for the first time. Everyone walking around, discovering or remembering they exist. Remembering is closer to the truth: people remembered their actual selves today. I could see it in the skateboarders. I could see it in the girl doing her homework on the front porch with her dog at her feet. I could see it in the 50-year-old guy wearing a red bandana, driving his dodge caravan with all the windows down, dangerously tailgating me on the interstate. People seemed pretty content to be themselves today.

And beneath all of it is desire. So long dormant, spring allows us our desire again. For months now we've had to tell our hunger: no, not yet; now's not the time; don't or you'll be disappointed. But the wait is over. The time to be hungry has arrived. You can want again. You may not survive; you may not ever find the food you're looking for, but the time to find out is now. Go: climb out with a yawn and pad forth sleepily, or rage from your burrow in an explosion of muck if that's what you want. You are a creature that hungers, and there are things in this world for hunger. You want sunshine, and there is a sun. You want green things, and they are growing. You are not in the wrong place at the wrong time anymore.