Sweet sweet sunlight

When the sun finally strikes Massachusetts it's as though the state awakens from a deep, cold sleep. It's the kind of sun that comes out reeking of spring breezes, declaring itself here by shouting it from rooftops all across the land.  (...Or so I picture it, anyway.)

This weekend the thermometer timidly peeked over fifty degrees fahrenheit and Boston became a different city. A different, beautiful, alive city. People could be seen stepping timidly out from the shadows of buildings, blinking into the bright light of the forgotten sun's rays. What was that great shining warm orb in the sky? ...The devil?

Many, like me, shook off their winter jackets and meandered around town happily in a carefree, sun-absorbing, vitamin D gorging kind of daze. In parks and along the esplanade people could be seen showing off their bare arms and legs, skin that shown translucent and pale against the brightness of the day. It was the kind of weather that makes it easy to forget the days, not even two weeks old now, when flurries batted against faces and snow turned brown against the sidewalks. And forgetting that feeling is a beautiful, magical, wonderful thing.

While everyone seems to be a bit taken aback by the wonder of actual warmth outside the call of life was far too strong to ignore. Everywhere little kids could be heard shrieking with joy while running away from parents, streaks of energy and bright clothes under that white light.

The spring makes me feel a little more alive and much more poetic. The days seem a little bit more sparkly and there is reason to celebrate in almost every activity that involves the outdoors. (Even taking out the trash. That says a lot.)

In honor of this gift of pseudo-spring weather this first full week of March I celebrated by being among those few brave souls caught stripping off their winter layers in favor of skimpier shirts and sleeves. My friend Lela and I spent a few lazy hours lounging over a dock normally inhabited by snow or geese, season-dependent. Being on the water was liberating. We continually convinced ourselves that 55 degrees was balmy, practically a Bahama breeze, and thus we remained outside 'til nearly the last light of the sun waned. And Lela and I, like every one of those other few brave souls, caught that first, wonderful springtime cold. It is a small price to pay for the awakening of one's mind, body and soul. I would do it again, I tell you! But weather is funny in the way that it is definitely affected by psychology. In the fall 55 degrees is a red flag for long jeans and sweaters. But give those same temperatures to Bostonians in March and the result is shorts, tee shirts, and even a daring bikini top. I think most of your perspective of the things around you depend on what your frame of reference is. Food for thought.

It's days like this that I wake up, as my mom would say, with a song in my heart. So how do I celebrate? By blasting my roommate's incredible stereo system with a song that fully acknowledges my gratitude of the coming spring. Just like the Mayans did. Good morning, Cambridge Street, here's some motown! (There's practically a law against not liking Stevie Wonder.) Though this weekend my neighbors didn't particularly rejoice with my humble offering (they tried to drown out my music with their weekly ritual of floor waxing, a terrible tribute indeed) I like to think that act of spring cleaning was their own simple offering to the sun gods and to the arrival of spring.

The pictures are taken amid such springtime festivities: breaking out sunglasses for the purpose of looking cool, and my personal favorite- drawing with chalk on sidewalks. As a nanny extraordinaire I have been putting my college-educated art and science skills to work, demonstrating both artistic shading as well as many different planets of the solar system to my two mildly interested nephews. (Quinn told me I did a very good job, which I took to heart.) Jupiter has an proportionately sized great red spot, and it never hurts to give Pluto some much-needed representation. When I was their age, Pluto was a planet. Never forget. Viva el sol!