Someone said it was like the monsoon here the past few days. Obviously, that person has never experienced a monsoon, but it was close enough. And the feeling of endless days of rain could mean little else for the mind that is desperate for some sunshine. And so when the sun finally returned to its rightful seat in the sky, there was noticeable joy in the air, even with non-humans such as trees and other plants. They seem a bit more carefree in their sways, brighten a little more. The long shadows cast by the late winter sun still gave it a slight feel of chilliness, but many joggers didn't't care, running in their shorts and T-shirts.
Walking down the streets of downtown, along side rush hour traffic, I smelled a whiff of rejuvenation. It would be another two weeks of Lent before the celebration of the resurrection of the Christian's Jesus, along with other cultures celebrating spring, we all seemed to want to get out of this rut called winter. There was one of the fiercest blizzards to slam into this region, though this particular city was spared much of the agony caused by the storms. And there seemed no end in sight for the cold spell a few months ago. When the groundhog in Pennsylvania declared more weeks of winter, there was some mood of glum, whether related to the furball's prediction or not.
On the Green there were people playing Frisbee, a young white woman with a bunch of black children. And not far from them, near the summer concert stage were another group of children around an adult, this time they were all black. The white people and children, I wasn't sure where they had gone to. The summer stage looked decrepit, as if still hibernating through the winter. Its stage was filled with water, reflecting the nearby government buildings in the waning sun. It was really warm. Even in the shade it was warm. So I sat down in the center of the Green, on one of the four benches that circumscribe the fountain in the middle. I breathe in the air that at least in my mind smelled so different from just yesterday, when the rain finally started to taper off. The marble bench was cold and uncomfortable, perhaps to dissuade the homeless from using it. I touched its surface, and it felt like the surface of glass. It's not smooth to the fingers or palm. It's cold to the touch. Its dark gray surface was shiny, reflecting the clear blue sky and my hands made golden in the sun's rays. I looked up and saw our flag fluttering slightly in the cool breeze. It was still at half-staff. I could never figure out if that was for the victims of the terrorist attack nine years ago or for the constantly increasing number of casualties in our armed forces. I looked at the flag and saw how innocent it was if all I saw was a decorated cloth hanging on a metallic pole.
I put my hands under my butt, above the cold slab of rock, palms down. My own hands were so much softer. I hunch my shoulders up a little, as if my body still recognized that it was winter, and such weather may not repeat until spring really arrived. A woman on her cell phone walked past me, talking to her children, possibly, judging from her tone and from the vocabulary of her sentences. The clicking sound of her heels on the stony floor of this center was very noticeable. I relaxed my shoulders and brought my knees up to my face so I could rest my head on them for a little bit. I watched the woman, wearing a brown trench coat and carrying a dark leather purse, walk away from me. Hopefully soon she would wear something more suitable for the spring. Though some of us were ready to start playing outside, indulge ourselves in the imagination of a spring, many of us still were wary. The sun was setting, and the cold would return tonight. It wouldn't be freezing like most nights in the last four months. But it would remind us that we had to be alert.
With this thought, I straightened my knees, my back, and took one more deep breath of this day of preview to spring. I lifted myself up and started walking again.
