I understand, intellectually, that other climates experience a changing of the seasons that they call spring. I understand, in the way that I accept other people’s subjective reports of the world because it is rude to contradict another’s personal experience, that people look forward to spring, even though they live south of me.

Yet, clearly, some small part of me simply does not believe that the rest of you really get it.

This past weekend everyone has been outside. Everyone. The Twin Cities are full of slightly loopy, dazed people walking around smiling these goofy smiles at everyone and everything. We are drunk on sunshine and warm weather.

So, briefly, a moment of regional insularity and jingoism, a moment of world-wide eye contact and knowing looks and head-nodding to all of you, my fellow 40-60 degree latitude people — north or south, I’m talking to you all, here — who are finally getting around to having spring.

Solidarity, comrades.



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