Mud is here, and the earthy, wet smell of spring pulls me outside.

For days I have heard red-winged black birds sing, and on my runs I see them flit over fields heavy with melting snow and soggy, straw-colored grass.

No longer do I wish to bundle up and stay cozy by the fire at night.

Now my legs long to stretch and leap; my lungs fill with the sweet warm air; my freckles reappear under the bright springtime sun, and I do not want to stay inside long enough for them to fade.