After two days full of birthday celebrations and cake highs, we stepped outside into the warm sunshine. The grass was soggy under my feet, small snow mounds still littered various parts of the neighborhood. The Mini was slightly drunk with giddiness at the mere thought of being outside after being trapped inside for three long months.
And then the smell hit me. I slowly inhaled. It was that old familiar smell. Warm spring air with a soft aroma of a glimpse of summer. What I can only imagine the feeling that heroine addicts feel when they finally get a fix, I began to get a little dizzy and high. I love this feeling. Usually I get a short one or two days of it in early February, but this year, it wasn’t meant to be. Instead, we were getting buried under feet of snow. I get up in the morning and check my trusty weather bug app. The temperatures are slowly creeping up and I get hopeful. “Maybe we’re finally turning the corner,” I think to myself. I open a couple of windows to air out the stale sick air and dust that permeates our house.
In my mind, I can smell the warm summer air. Fresh cut grass, barbecues, and chlorine. It smells heavenly. This year, LG will most likely be walking. We can go to the pool. I can hang out in my friend’s driveway while they all play in the sandbox and the little kiddie pool. I look forward to neck and back sweat, and flip flops and sitting outside on my deck with a cold beer, eating dinner.
My senses are waking up, and I’m counting down the days until summer.