Hunting for gloves. Running outside in short sleeves and shorts. Warm up the arm with a few easy throws. Gulls squealing in the sky; the lake booms. Maia swings on the swingset, then later lounges on a lawn chair. John fires up his fastball, making my palm sting. The sky is blue, the spruce are waking up. Chickadees flirt among the lilac buds.
It's also 35 degrees, and the windchill is 25. John reaches for a bad throw from me and misses; the ball hits some snow and rolls itself into a snowball the size of a grapefruit. But it's spring. Oh yes, it's spring.