Is spring a fancy or a feeling?

It's that time of year again. Springtime, or at least technically near-springtime. 

People keep saying that in Nebraska we always have a "false spring" where the weather gets warm for a week or two, before returning to frigid icy Narnia-ness. In a way, I suppose they're right. The weather here does tend to be unpredictable. 

But also, doesn't the fact that we expect that make it just a little bit predictable? Calling it a "false spring" when this is what happens in the spring every year just kind of means it's spring, but not the way you want it. If spring is sometimes cold and sometimes warm, it doesn't stop being spring just because you don't want to have to wear a jacket, any more than a Chinese buffet stops being a Chinese buffet because they aren't serving crab legs. 

"False" or no, right now it's spring to me. I can tell because I've once again begun to feel the wistfulness stir in my soul. 

That spring thing

Spring is a long stretch. 

It's waking up and hitting the snooze once 

or twice.

It's a breath of change, of hope, of forward-ness. 

It's looking out the library window when you should be writing. 

It's running to your car in the rain, 

forgetting your umbrella. 

It's discomfort and daydreams and 

don't-

give-

ups.  

It's warmth on your face,

and a chill breeze to wake your heart.

It's mud, pine needles, bike tracks through a puddle. 

It's the world 

crying with you.

It's a bone-popping metamorphosis. 

Spring is all-enduring love, the essence of Easter.