So far, the spring this year has been . . . fitful, at best. I suppose it shouldn't be surprising that a winter that only found its strength at the very end is reluctant to give up its grasp on the year. But the flowers are starting to bloom in earnest now, rather than a few stray optimists. The sakura trees are in full bloom, the tulips are on their way, even if there's a chill in the air carried by a wind that feels more like early winter than early spring. I'm told things will finally warm up next week. Like so many things about this year, it's hard to even imagine that winter may finally end, even if it seems all but imminent now.
There's not much interesting to be said about life as an essential worker now. I've long since lost a sense of what is normal, and while things seem to be getting livelier downtown, it's happening at such a glacial pace that it's almost imperceptible. I still remember the desolation of the early days, though. Everything downtown was so quiet, so still, and everyone seemed so bleak. Everything seemed so uncertain. It still does, of course, in different ways. The past year has caused so much damage that we aren't even beginning to see the effects of, yet, and when the ruling class steps in to heal that damage, they'll do so in ways which make society that much worse for it.
But it's springtime, for now. April is still early, yet--perhaps it will be beautiful and warm by the time May comes around, and everything will feel alive and the city will be bright with color. Spring is a season of promise, and sometimes the promises are so beautiful we forget how often they end up broken.
