The first warm day of the season always brings an odd feeling with it. I've written about it before. It's even more pronounced in Minnesota where it signals a thaw, and the sound of rushing water fills the gutters and an odd, heavy, earthy smell comes up to meet it. Even here, though, you get a ghost of it, while the yellow-rumped warblers careen through the bushes, yammering--a strong, nameless emotion, a kind of melancholy exuberance, as if you're not sure if you want to dance or cry.
It makes you want to get up, walk around, do something. It makes your bones itch inside your skin. If I were a dog, I'd howl.
I enjoy it--I think--but it's a little painful too.