I have feelings about spring. Every spring, I look forward to that first day that I can drive with the window down, even though I’ve been driving with the window down since I was a little girl. (I recommend accompanying this trip with the New Pornographers’ record Mass Romantic.) Every spring, there’s that one day. That one day, when you turn the corner. You hit the farmer’s market in a shirt you’ve washed and dried a hundred times until it’s fuzzy and pilling. …

It’s true: We shouldn’t grouse about the way winter hangs around. (Even though, in many places, this winter was worse than most.) We should be used to it. It starts to get better, and then it rains, it gets cold again, and we feel suspended and impatient, snapped back and forth between cold and warm. But all that angst is just part of the dance. … We are still this grumpy because we are so ready. We are leaning forward, sniffing the air, looking for blooms, grabbing a jacket for one more stupid day of stupid jacket weather, in part because we know there’s an end. It will be spring. It will get warm. There will be sun. Lust so rarely comes with a guarantee.