Spring is the light from a star pouring in my window, causing me to stop mid-stride, turn my face...eyes closed, see the pink of my eyelids and feel warmth soak into flesh and bone. My huddled, clenched body softens, loosens, recalls movement and flow.
Neither cold nor heat holds sway. It's the bridge between; the balance before the scale tips. It's remembering and marking the transition. No longing. No denunciation. Just appreciation of the contrast.