Thinkingdog Publishing

  Here we go again. That strange, awkward, emotionally confusing time of year where winter hasn’t technically left, spring is definitely late, and we’re all just standing around squinting at the weather forecast like it personally owes us something. You know the days I mean. One glorious afternoon appears out of nowhere. Blue sky. Sunshine. Birds doing that hopeful chirping thing like they’re auditioning for a Disney movie. You step outside and think, This is it. We made it. I survived winter. I am a resilient woodland creature. And then the very next morning you wake up to gray. Snow. Slush. The emotional equivalent of someone unplugging your happiness and shrugging. I am caught, once again, between hope and deep suspicion. I want to believe. I truly do. I want to put the winter boots away, stop wearing seventeen layers, and feel my face without pain. But experience has taught me that spring likes to flirt. It shows up just long enough to get your guard down, then vanishes...