Hibernaculum

A leg, a breeze, or something hackneyed, a chirp, a leg in the breeze. We wait months for this moment of rebirth, of spring's return from the dead, and it comes not with circumstance, but with accidental intent. The first community boaters of the year are on the Charles River, and it hits, that spring has been with us for a week and a half. A birthday gift that arrives late, a nice memory we think actually happened.

That's the trick of the season, though: spring never died at all. It just found a place to settle down, take a rest, and show up like a lost child who wasn't lost at all, just playing hide-and-seek.

And we, the victims of this prank? We're pissed off and we're angry and we're embarrassed that we fell for it again. Then, as an innocent leg passes on a dangerous breeze as a lovely devil chirps, we're thankful to live through a horrible season of silence so that the next, the joy of words, awakes.