Oh. It's spring!

I just went out to get some juice (gotta keep that Vitamin C pumping) and pick my graduation gown. And it suddenly washed over me--this delightful realization that somehow, someway, this crazy huge city has managed to crawl its way to spring. Broadway is lined up and down with flowering trees, and the islands between the north and south lanes are carpetted with daffodils. I saw a student walking down the sidewalk, barefoot. Behind me on the crosswalk, a little boy being tugged home too soon protested petulantly and sensibly, "But Mom! Central park is bigger than our backyard! Way bigger!" The air is warm and still enough that I didn't even need a sweater, and the sidewalks were already lined with carousers. In the alleyspace between my building and the one behind some of the spindly trees are covered in a fine net of new green leaves. For the first time in months my windows are wide and happily open, and I can hear that somewhere on this block an enthusiastic pianist has also opened a window; neighborly, we share both oxygen and music.

Mr. Gaiman has a complete and perfect spring.