In Like a Lion

This morning, we woke up to a light breeze through the opened window. For months, I have longed for this: Stirring to the sound of birds, the smell of spring, the caress of fresh air. I laid in bed, inhaling the intoxicating scent of warmth.

Winter has finally broken. For the last few days, I've been able to leave my heavy coats in their somber spots in the closet, opting instead for a light jacket for the chill of after dark. Yesterday, I drove with my windows down, with Jason Mraz Geek in the Pink blasting from my speakers. The music mixed with the warm air licking my face tasted like the end of last summer, a new relationship, undistilled glee.

It feels foreign, though, leaving my house without gloving my hands, wrapping my neck in a scarf. It's strange to speak without my words coming out in puffs of condensation. So, for now, I'm drowning in the novelty of it; Stepping outside and breathing deeply, mentally noting that I don't need a coat, seizing any and every opportunity to head outdoors just to bathe in sunshine.

I know that in a month - maybe less - I'll forget all about how decadent this feels. I'll forget the chill of the last five months, the cumbersome winter coats, the cold noses, the numb fingers, and the general misery of being outside. I'll forget about having to warm up my car, wearing snow boots, icy roads.

But for now, that's all fresh enough in my memory so that stepping outside feels new and delicious. Being outside, or just next to an open window, feels like a reward for making it through another winter.