When the skies are gray and perpetually sprinkling, fading in and out of pouring rain and ceasefire (only with enough time to dry-off before it begins again), you get a little depressed. The pollution that covered Paris for seemingly the entire month of December and continued into January seemed impossible to get rid of. Yet, one day in March, it was like everything changed. It didn’t even give us a fleeting day or two of sun, it gave us a full week and five days. I’m still counting.
The happiness that, not only consumes me, but every other Parisian dweller is so evident you’d think the French were quite a happy people. Rest assured, a server reminded me the other day that the only reason he knew I wasn’t French was because I smiled at him when I spoke. French are still French.
Give an inch and take a kilometer: while the sun is out, the chill is not long gone. It’s a little hilarious to witness people forcing their senses to the side and bursting out of their apartments with all of their stubborn glory, waltzing down the streets in tank tops or shorts. Come on, it’s not summer yet ladies and gentlemen.
However, with the coming of spring — oh my beloved printemps — there is a sense hope and a little bit of urgency. Time flies when you’re preoccupied and happy, c’est la vie, n’est-ce pas?
Gone are the winter days filled with lethargy and moping about indoors, under many blankets. Spring is for exploration, good health, well-mannered frivolity and awaiting the sweaty summer months that will have us going crazy again.