Spring, Sprung

And not a moment too soon

Yesterday, the grocery store was bedlam. Cars backed out of spaces with nary a glance in the rearview mirror, narrowly missing people on their way to grab grocery carts and careen down aisles the wrong way. Store employees eyes, furtive over their masks, looked glazed, shell-shocked. Our mundane suburban Stop and Shop was as grotesque Hieronymus Bosch might have conceived it, thronged with desperate masked bird-people single-focused on feeding themselves. Outside, here was a long, morose line of folks holding garbage bags crammed with bottles and cans to return. A bitter March wind whipped small whirlwinds of trash across the parking lot. Everywhere I looked, it was obvious that we’ve all had it. This plague year, winter was relentless, and we’ve dragged ourselves to the end of our collective endurance. Spring arrives today, and not a millisecond too soon. A lot is riding on this spring in particular. I wonder, can spring handle it?

Perhaps not. It’s a big ask, and it goes far beyond buds and birdsong. But history teaches us to fall for it every year, both gentle and otherwise. Spring is infectious, causes a fever, and this year, we hope not only to catch it, but pray for it to catch us.