There is something about this time of year. You can be walking and the air will change because you passed by the little creek that runs through your town, becoming suddenly breathy and as cold as a grave, even if it was 75 today. The hill rises and there is a pocket of warm air. 

Another thing about that - there is a similar sense of myself that usually comes in the evenings, when I'm sitting out in the open air or maybe standing in my kitchen fixing dinner, when I can see myself clearly like I am a piece of writing that I muddled over all night and then woke up the next morning and could read it like for the first time. I tend to like myself in this bare, wane spring light. The taste of strawberries. Maybe it's a little early for that.

I have been waking up terribly early, at 5 or 6, and getting up to spend a few hours with myself rather than simply sleeping. I'm tired of being asleep. I want to be funny and sharp and pretty again.