And how do I know it’s spring?
Could it be the trees that are blooming, or the sun desperately trying to poke through the gray, cloudy skies?
Might it be the luscious, ripe strawberries with verdant green stems at my market?
Or could it be that it’s no longer just the hearty non-smokers occupying the outdoor tables in the cafés, but everyone, hoping to catch a sliver of sunshine?
How do I know it’s spring?
It’s because the speedy folks at La Poste—just yesterday—returned an incorrectly addressed Christmas card that I’d sent way back in December, to someone who lives about a mile away, in the same city.
I can’t wait to see what summer brings.
Maybe some of the others?