Fever. Spring.

"It's Spring Fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want--oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!"-Mark Twain

After a long, cold, numbing Winter, it is all too easy to prematurely jump into the heady concept of Spring. I know full well that we have not seen the last of frost, icy rain, or flurries. Yet, all it takes is a bit of sunshine to make me dizzy with the thought of the warmth and languor of the upcoming season. The evenings remain hot-chocolate worthy--my car is still tinged with a delicate layer of frost most mornings--but I cannot stop myself from dreaming of bright-green grass and fire-flies, sun-dresses and sandals. I suppose that it is only natural to want to shrug off the freezing, fat, short days of Winter at the first tiny sign of newness and freshness. Every store in the country is in cahoots with this feeling: bathing suits and flip-flops have been lining the racks for weeks. The April issues of magazines are touting the turn of the season in glorious, lush, expensive colour. I am tempted to take the dog on long sojourns to the park across the street where, if the truth be named, the grass is still a sad, drab shade of semi-green.
March is, indeed, full of the last vestiges of Winter. The Academy Awards ceremony is tonight. College basketball play-off madness is nearly here. Though I can go outside without a jacket, there is a slight chill in the air, which becomes all too obvious as soon as a foot is set out of the sunshine. Mark Twain was quite correct in his assessment of Spring Fever. I have become antsy for something new, bright, and lovely; annually I associate it with the dawn of warm weather, the chirping of birds, a breeze turned comfortable. It can never, never get here soon enough. I base every good, strong hope for the near-future on its arrival. It is amazing how a gentle reminder-to-self to live in the moment, to not wish away even an inch of your life, can be so fruitless when at long-last sunshine and heat is dangled before you. Fever, indeed.
It is difficult to rein in this type of giddiness yet, I am beginning to think, upon actual consideration, worth the effort. There is nothing wrong with a few more mugs of hot chocolate or bowls of soup, a few more weeks where the dog curled up at my feet is welcoming rather than stifling. Perhaps I do not really need those Coach sandals or cotton-coloured bikini right this second. Sleeping under a blanket has its merits, after all; and so does enjoying the air that you are breathing right now, exactly where you are, even if it is a bit nippy.